#because nothing gets under Alex's skin when they talk about him. It's always Henry who is his weakness

[immortalmuses]

@hrhenryfox sent: "Alex?" Henry wasn't expecting to see the First Son here, never mind completely soaked from it raining outside. Something had to be wrong. Coming down the stairs, the prince rushed over and looked on worried. "What's wrong? What happened?"

ㅤㅤㅤAlex knows what it looks like, him showing up at Kensington like this. Especially considering the last time he'd appeared on Henry's doorstep in the pouring rain. The American had borne quite a different greeting then than he does now, at least, hastening forward to meet his boyfriend half way, disregarding how his sodden sneakers squelch on the polished tile.

ㅤㅤㅤ"Henry, hey--" Catching the other man's hands in his own, Alex immediately brings them to his lips, kissing Hen's knuckles reassuringly. "It's fine, I'm fine."

ㅤㅤㅤOk, maybe he should explain. "..I, uh... I know I look like something out of your Jane Austen novels right now." The American winces, forever haunted by the image of a soggy Mr Darcy being rejected by Kiera Knightly, "--But baby, I swear it's not as bad as it looks. I just... uh..."

ㅤㅤㅤAlex shrugs up one shoulder, curls dripping chilled rainwater under the collar of his leather jacket. Despite being cold, his face heats up with embarrassment, "...I may have been chased by Paparazzi? Ok, I might have almost punched a paparazzo and then, y'know.... had to Run. In the Rain."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤZahra is going to kill him.

[laketaj24]

The Rules IV: Triggered

Author’s Note: Thank you all soo much for your input!!! It helped me out more than you know! This was fun as hell to write and I hope you’re down for a ride! It’s about to go down. There are two songs that really hit the nail on the head for this part, they are linked below! Happy Reading my people!

Pairing: CEO!Henry Cavill X Reader

Warning: Angst. SMUT. DRAMA.

Want to catch up! Click HERE

Song Inspirations: Jhene Aiko: Triggered (First Part) Jhene Aiko: P*SSY Fairy

If your heart slowed anymore, you’d collapse. But it wasn’t just the lethargic beat of your heart that slowed down. The kiss. The fucking kiss was being replayed in your head over and over, the way she cupped him, the way his lips touched hers and he deepened it. You feel the bile rise at the helm of your throat and you step back.

“Excuse me.” You whispered to a bewildered Alex, “I need to leave.”

He noticed. You could tell by the way he looked back to Henry and then you. His tall frame went from relaxed to apathetic. “Is it him?” He gave a wave in Henry’s direction and then stepped closer to you. “Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” You attempted to push your way through the crowd and caught an opening into the gala hall. Alex was on your feet, his long strides made it easy for him to catch you. “Hey, I can’t talk about it right now.”

Your mind raced, he took a month away from you, was it because the entire time he had her? Were you some fucking mistress, side-chick, side bitch… Homewrecker? Inwardly you taunted yourself with the unceasing line of insults to yourself. Fuck! Fuck.

“Look.” Alex cleared his throat and stepped closer to you. His presence kept you from bolting into the nearest room and destroying everything in it. You were grateful for that, maybe. “He is not worth you not enjoying this night. Do you know how beautiful you are right now? Every eye in the building was with you when we arrived. Make him mad, but don’t let him win. He did nothing to deserve a win apparently.”

The pep talk worked and more and more you were starting to understand why Alex was a friend you didn't want to lose regardless of what happened. The first dance is casual, you fight tears watching the woman touch his hand, laid her hand on his chest and laugh like he was a comedian. He wasn't that damn funny. You stay for an hour, it was required to stay an hour, you have done only what was expected of you and nothing more. Alex took you home, the car ride is silent besides the occasional murmur of a curse word under your breath.

Home is what you craved more than anything, once the door was closed and Alex's driver left you released a scream that scared you, followed by a sob as you felt your heart literally break. What a fucking feeling? Grief for someone who didn't deserve it. You didn't drink to solve your problems, so alcohol was a no. Sleep was the obvious answer.  The dress felt like it burned your skin, you were certain it didn't, but the fact that it came from him made it poison. He was poison, that you willingly chugged down like a vintage wine and now the repercussions had finally made their grand entrance. And fuck them.

Why were you looking them up, they were a known couple, known to everyone but you? You typed in his name and nothing but her appeared Billionaire Henry Cavill and Olivia Tate grace the Emmy's with their presence. Will this playboy finally settle down? Olivia Tate has HC's heart around her finger. You were sick again. You throw the phone on the couch and screenshot the picture of him kissing her. Is this the future Mrs. Cavill?

You changed clothes, slipping the crop top and leggings on. You knew it wasn't the end of the night. And you were right, sleep does not come. He sends you seven messages, each of which you stared at trying to formulate a response, but they didn't merit one, until the last one.

Henry: I've been looking for you for an hour. Where are you?

Henry: You left without a word? Are you mad or something?

Henry: A response would be nice.

Henry: Y/N

Henry: Y/N. I'll find you later.

Henry: Be there in ten.

Y/N: Drive safe. Are you bringing the wife with you?

You hit send of the picture you'd saved.

Henry: Wow.

The wait for him to arrive only infuriates you more, your mother had always said your temper was like a wildfire, once it sparked it would consume everything to the ground. You knew she was right; Henry even knew your temper needed to be managed, but no one fucking managed you. This included Henry. He didn't knock. He never did really, he entered with his perfectly tailored suit and an eye roll. And the lamp crashed behind him. He ducks, but his face is shocked.

"What the fuck was that?" he hissed.

"My fucking two-hundred-dollar lamp." You picked up the shoes and hurled them across the room next and he ducked as if he knew they were coming and charged towards you. You moved from his grasp. "You have been with her for a year!" It roared out of you and then the tears followed. "Why did you even come over here? Did you think I would be okay with it? Do you think I want to be your whore? Come when you say, fuck when you say and then you go home to her. Don't touch me!!"

"You're not going to let me explain, are you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Explain Henry, tell me what lie did you conjure up, while headed here. She's just a friend. I wasn't with her." you shake your head and Henry folds his arms across his chest. "Is she the reason you wouldn't let me kiss you?"

"Are you finishing acting like-."

"Say it!" You cut him off and step closer to him. You wanted to hit something, but his face was too pretty for that shit, and despite your anger, your mother raised you better than that, "Like what Henry? Get out."

"Y/N."

"I said get the fuck out!"

His jaw clenched and he pushed his hands through his thick mane of brown curls, ending the polished look he had earlier. "I'll call you later."

"Oh, no the fuck you won't." You opened the door to Alex standing there with his eyes on Henry. Why was he back? "He was just leaving." You explained to Alex. "Bye."

Alex stepped aside and held up the brown bag, you could smell the Chinese and noticed the wine bottle. "We didn't get to eat." He explained. The smug grin on his face sealed the night, he was a good guy.

You smiled and watched Henry stare at him before looking back at you. He shook his head, "Goodnight."

"Fuck you." You whispered.

In the past hearing, people say they were numb sounded foolish, of course, they felt. A human cannot simply shut it all off, but you were wrong. So wrong, it was easier to go numb than to feel. It started with work, your time invested in the company allotted you vacation three fucking weeks, paid and free.

The first week you spent with Alex, not fucking his brains out like a part of you wanted to but being a friend. He allowed you to talk, you told him everything and he listened with no judgment and that made it easier. Tia was around too, she spent the night with you when she could, in between hair appointments and makeup slots. Her career was changing fast, you were happy for her even if you barely showed it at times.

The second week you shut them both out. You told them you were out of town, but you were in your apartment with food and tear-soaked pillows. His phone calls had stopped, but you feared it was only because you changed the number. Work could contact you via email if they needed to, but no one even called you during the first two weeks. The marketing strategy you left would do well, you knew it. And besides your certainty in your program, you didn’t care what Cavill Industries did at the moment.

The third week, everything went numb, there were no more tears to cry. Every inkling of him that existed was gone, including the $6000 dollar dress. You burned it and at that final act, the night was gone from your mind. He’d broken the rules. You’d both set them and when he kissed her, he disqualified himself.

The first day back to work your anxiety had you in its grip. Every phone call and opening of your door you dreaded. But he didn’t come. He wasn’t even in the building, according to your boss and that eased everything. You could work with him not being anywhere near you, and that made you apply to the other firms that had once been interested in you. You got two calls immediately. Matheus Corporate wanted to hire you without an interview and after the offer they sent, you were taking it. You typed out your resignation letter and turned it into HR. It was the right choice.

It was a month before you saw him again, and the Cavill you saw briefly in the lobby looked nothing like the one you had grown accustomed to. His hair was wild, and he had a beard, an actual beard. His slate-blue eyes were tired as were his movements. Just seeing him triggered you, the horrid memories of that night flooded your head and the pain resurfaced. Being numb would not be possible around him. You knew it. You hid in the stairwell like an idiot and avoided him. Nine more days of work here and you would be clear.

“Look, the way I see it, we are friends now.” Alex kicked his feet up on your desk and looked to you for affirmation.

You gave it to him nodding your head and chugging down your third bottle of water. “Yes, we’re friends. So, when I call you up at midnight and you’re with your little girlfriend cuddling and things you still have to make an appearance.”

“Girlfriend?” He scoffed.

“You heard me.” You pointed at him.

“I’m hoping one day the little girlfriend, I am cuddling will be you.” He smiled. “There is no rush and no expectation for it. But I didn’t want you to leave this place, oblivious to the fact that I really like you.”

Your heart warmed and you smiled. “Nine days to go and your boldness is out the bag.”

He shrugged. “Did I get brownie points?”

“A whole cake.” You said. You were back to work an hour later, singing under your breath when the door opened.

“I told him to wait outside.” Your assistant said, trying to beat Henry in the office. She turned to you. “Ms. YLN, Mr. Cavill is here to see you.” But he was already in front of your desk.

“Get out.” He said to her.

“Whatever you have to say to me, she can hear.” For some reason, you knew if the door closed you would succumb to him, “Speak.”

“You are not leaving.” His voice was not composed, just wavering and near weak. “Y/N.”

“Gianna, you can go.” You exhaled. What the hell had happened to him? She left the room and the space that once seemed huge started to shrink. Henry walked towards you and you held your hand up when he reached your desk. “What?”

“You changed your number.”

“What did you expect?”

“For you to give me a chance to explain,” His eyes plead with yours for the opportunity. “Can I have that please?”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, I was never yours, right?”

“You’re still mine.” The slight possessiveness came back to his voice.  

It made you weak for a moment, your hitched breath took over the silence. “Hurry up, Henry.”

“She is my girlfriend.” He said.

The words punch at a wound you were certain was nearly healed. You hoped he was going to say that he left her, the pathetically infatuated part of you wanted him to say, she dumped him. But he just reaffirmed what you already knew. Olivia Tate was the official girlfriend of Henry Cavill. “Thanks?” You swallowed. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t want her to be, I want you.”

“You are making no sense and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to throw things at you here. I just wanted to leave all this in the past. Go be with her.”

“Y/N.” He said your name as if he was fighting for breath. “There are some things you do not understand about me. Things I would rather not talk about, but I don’t want her.”

“Then leave her! Damn it.” You bit out. “You are a grown man. You can make decisions on your own. If you didn’t want her then end it. End it now.”

“I can’t talk here.”

“Where else are you gonna talk?” You laughed. “My place? Hell no.”

“Mine.” He shook his head. “I’ll send a car for you after work. Don’t make them work Y/N. Just come.” He looked at you. “Please.”

“Fine.”

 You didn’t fight his orders on meeting him, curiosity reared its ugly head and you were gone. His home was at the edge of town, the driveway curved up a hill and lead to the glass estate. It was incredible. Had you been here on better circumstances, you would have enjoyed the view. You stepped out and the door opened. Henry had shed the suit for a black shirt and black sweats that hung at his waist somehow accenting his frame. Fuck. Were you even going to be strong enough to say no to this god? One last fuck? Just to say goodbye fuck, it wouldn’t be frowned upon.

You argued with yourself and walked into the home, the décor was much like his office dark brown woods with a modern sense. You stood in the foyer and looked at him. The closer to the door you were, the more likely you were to say no to him without hesitation.

“I can’t shut you out of my mind.” He confessed. He had shaved, but his hair was still tucked behind his ears, longer than normal.

“Just tell me.”

“I met Olivia in college.” He sighed. “We used to date off and on, but it was never more than sex. Never.”

“That’s all it is with us.” You interrupted. “Hence the reason I don’t need this talk.”

“Then why’d you come?” Henry stared. “I have been infatuated with you for months and when I finally got the opportunity to be with you, I jumped at it.”

“Don’t feed me bullshit.” You held your hand up.

“Who do you think hired you?”

“Why can’t you just leave her?” You asked.

“She knows things about me that can ruin me.” he stopped talking. “Liv is talented at getting the things she wants. If I leave her, she’ll spill it.”

“Oh, get the fuck out of here!” You laugh. “You expect me to believe this Lifetime movie shit? You got a girlfriend and you want me too. Admit it.”

“I don’t want her.” He shook his head. “I want you.”

“You can say it until you’re blue in the face. If you don’t show me, how in the fuck am I supposed to believe that this… isn’t just a way for you to get what you want.”

Henry sunk to his knees. “I’ll beg you.”

“Dogs beg.” You spat.

“Anything.” He rasped.

“Do you know how bad I hurt? I didn’t work for weeks. I didn’t care for weeks. We’ve been together a month. Do you think my behavior was normal? Do you think yours is normal? No. We are bad for one another and I just…”

How did he get up so fast? You moved back and he was on you, his steps heavy and determined. He caged you against the wall and then you realized, his face was wet with tears.

“You have to believe me.” He whispered and the fear clawed through him. “Please.”

There was an urge pushing you to leave this place, nothing good can come from him. But his face was pained, you’d never seen this part of him. You cupped his face affectionately and your lips graze his cheek. It feels as if he shutters and then you just do it. You hesitantly kiss him. Your lips touch his and the energy that passes through you ignites a groan.

“Please.” The plea is accompanied by him responding to the kiss, tenderly. He leaned into you, his body blanketing to you and taking whatever breath you thought you had left. But you were sure that he took your breath away without a kiss. His brow furrowed as he deepened it pushing your head against the door. He wrapped his arms around you, swaddling you in his muscles while somehow it wasn’t the muscles that you felt. For the first time, he was being himself with you. He allowed you to feel what you didn’t even know was there.

He pulled back from you and he moved as if he was dizzy. The breath he had stolen from you had made it's way back to you and you inhaled. There was more than a desire that flickered between the two of you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

His eyes flashed with a little hope. “Same.” Henry didn’t wait for permission he just scooped you up from the floor and kissed you again, this time it hurt. The hurt is so fucking good.

“I want,” the words were caught in your throat. Was this right or were you spiraling? “I want you, here. Right here.” He lowered you both down on the steps so that you were straddling him, you didn’t care for his comfort. You wanted him to feel you. “You remember the rules?” You whispered. Your tongue licks his lips and then dives in and he’s taken back, gripping your ass that is winding on his dick. You can feel him through the sweats. “Hmm…”

“I could never forget.”

“Don’t cum unless I say.” You smiled before kissing him again. You bucked your hips on and his eyes widened the lust pushing through. “You hear me, sir?” Your voice was low and filled with lust. “I want to fuck you right here.” He grew harder, flinching against you. “I want you to moan my name when you cum…”

Henry’s hands were in your hair, pulling you back so he could see your eyes. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want me to, just fuck me.” He begged.

“Did you miss me?”

“Always.” He groaned lowering his head to your breast. He sprung the from the blouse and ripped it in two. “Always.”

You wanted to believe him, but the lingering hurt from the past month. “If you lie to me again,” You unsheathed him from his sweats and stroked your hand down the length of his cock. You swiped the precum that oozed from the tip down and pumped again. “Missing me is all you’ll know how to do, sir.”

“Fuck,” He jumped in your hand and sucked air in through his teeth.

“Understand?”

“I-,” He moaned when you increased your speed. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” You were so turned on by the way you were making him feel. You now understood why he wanted to be in control of everything in the bed. It was sexy as fuck to watch what you could do to someone. You could watch them unravel, put them back together and do it again.

Henry pushed the pen skirt up and easily ripped the panties. He tossed them behind you and his fingers were in you. Prodding and working, you fucking missed him, even though you shouldn’t have. “Y/N.” He moaned. “I’m almost there.” He panted.

You stopped stroking him and began to ride his fingers, lifting yourself from them and then back on until the next time Henry pushed his cock in. He was fighting every urge he had to allow you some control in this thing. He threw his head back when he was fully inside of you and stilled.

But you wanted to fuck him. You wanted to ride him slow and draw out every fucking moment you could with him. So, if you regretted being here in the morning, the walk of shame wouldn’t have too much shame. Your walls sealed around him and he gripped your hips trying to stop you from fucking him, but you continued. Your rhythm was wild, you used his shoulders like an anchor and smiled down at him. His face was red and misted with sweat. His curls were soaked, and he was mesmerized. Your tits bounced in front of him and your eyes were rolling. “Y/N.” He warned and you felt his cock grow harder and then he growled, shuddering in your breast as if he had waited forever to cum inside of you.

“Seems you broke a rule.” You laughed and continued to fuck him. He made sounds that only made you wetter for him and the man was part machine. He had to be as his cock grew back rigid and he was still shuttering from coming the time before.

Henry licked his fingers and slapped them onto your clit before he pulled you towards him. His fingers knew how to work your pussy. Moving in circles and then another slap before he started back again, and you were about to cum. You didn’t want to. You shook your head and Henry looked up at you, “I won’t last another time. I ca-,” Your pussy shook around his and your thighs locked down as the pleasure surged through your body. “Shit!” He yelled before slamming into you and spilling his cum again. “Y/N.” He rasped.

The floor wasn’t a bad place to lay for the time being. Henry was wrapped around your naked body and there was no need for cover. He kept you warm enough.

“Was she the reason you didn’t kiss me?”

He exhaled. “She,” he paused. “I never know when she will decide to come back into my life.” He admits. “And up until you, it was easier not kissing, that way when it ended… there were no emotions in it. It was just fucking. I can’t do that with you, okay? A single glance from you could make my heart stop, a kiss would have shattered me.” Henry admitted.

It was quiet for a while. Just deep breaths and kisses all down your body. “Let’s go to bed.” You said finally. “My boss would be mad as hell if I missed tomorrow.”

“I’m throwing you resignation away, and if you’re having problems out of Mike… I’ll fire his ass.” He stood up and reached his hand out to you. “Come on, the bed is the proper place to make sure you’re so tired work isn’t an option.”

  His bed was comfortable, the sheets were so soft you were tempted to ask where he got them. You slept peacefully entangled in the muscled mass that is Henry. But it was not a complaint to make, being without him for so long made you grateful you could listen to him breathe and feel his heart against your back.

“Thank God.” The unfamiliar voice came from the bottom of the bed.

Your eyes narrowed as the bright sun made its way through the windows. The blonde hair was the first take away, it was Olivia. You scrambled from under Henry’s body. “Henry!” If she wanted a fight, you were ready to fight her, you’d just prefer to not be naked while doing it.

Henry groaned and once he caught sight of her he jolted up from the bed. “Olivia. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Don’t be rude. I was just saying thank God.” Olivia leaned over his legs and looked at you. “I hated watching him mope around here. He looked like a puppy, sad because his bitch went away.”

“Bitch? I beg your pardon, Henry if you don’t get this woman.” Henry gave an admonished look to Olivia and gripped your hand. It didn’t comfort you. It just pissed you off. You snatched your hand away from him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” One more foul word from her and you’d fight naked.

“Excuse my manners, darling. I’m Olivia and I am so glad you are here. It seems we have some rules to introduce.” She pushed up from the bed and left the room. “Chop, chop Henry, dear. Bring your bitch, I have a plane to catch.”

[pawprintsmoon]

Inevitable

Henry Knew

Part IV

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28968006/chapters/71734731

Henry started to admit to himself what he had always known: they were inevitable.

When Alex called him to talk about his parent’s fight on Christmas Eve, Henry wanted nothing more than to be there for him, as his best friend. He had been listening to Christmas madrigals and commiserating with Bea about the absurdity of how many Christmas trees filled the palace, when his phone buzzed. A distressed and uncharacteristically apologetic Alex needed him. The younger man had nobody else to talk to and Henry’s heart swelled up with gratitude. 

He was the lucky person that Alex needed. He was allowed to listen and support. The intimacy of it! For the next couple days, he found himself reminding Alex to eat and sleep and he knew. He knew he was falling in love.

It was all way too fast, but somehow, it was also slow. So gentle the way they opened up to each other, petal by petal. The five days between Christmas Eve and #YoungAmericanGala2019, when they would see each other in person, were slow and fast as well. There was enough time for the two boys to become lazily closer and closer, yet not nearly enough time to prepare Henry to see the first son in person.

For those five days, Alex was as goofy as ever, and more than once Henry would burst out laughing in the middle of a quiet teatime or stuffy meeting. Bea would give him a knowing look and Philip would glare. It came to a point that sometimes when Henry was in meetings he’d have to turn off his notifications, lest his phone would buzz every ten minutes. While they mostly exchanged stupid memes and mockingly combative comments, occasionally the tone of some texts were softer.

When it’s 7:00am in London it’s 1:00am in Washington D.C.

Alex: so, what do you think the likelihood of me being able to fall asleep tonight is?

Henry: Did you have an entire pot of coffee after 8pm again?

Alex: well…

Henry: We may have found a cause for your insomnia then. You okay though?

Alex: yeah of course, why?

Henry: I worry about you sometimes… idk.

Henry: Like, I’m here. You know?

Alex: awwwww yeah I know, man. ditto.

They continued with a conversation about nothing while Henry ate sipped his morning tea, and every 30 minutes, he told Alex he ought to try harder to go to sleep.This became a routine for them. Alex, unable to sleep and waking Henry up with morning memes. Henry getting dressed, eating breakfast, starting the day until around nine, when Alex would text something like “good night” or “I’m out :-P ” or one time, “sweet dreams xo”. Did he really think he was being sarcastic?

One afternoon, it snowed in London. Kensington palace was so rarely covered in snow, and Henry felt that childish glee of first snow fall. He knew he could bear the cold if it meant he could see the long lines of winter light glittering through frosted trees. So he grabbed David and took him on a walk through the snowy rose garden. Bewitched by the magic of the winter wonderland, Henry succumbed to the impulse to call Alex. This was a first, so far they only talked when Alex called him.

He distracted Alex from studying for hours. His heels were blistering by the time they hung up, because he hadn’t planned on such a long walk and his snow boots were new and stiff. That’s one way to break in shoes, he supposed. All at once, while wandering lovesick in the gardens. Oh how the blistered skin ached.

Come the morning of December 31st, Henry couldn’t figure out what to wear to the New Years Gala. He knew Alex was planning on a burgundy velvet suit (how queer, dear lord boy) and he was pretty sure the dress code to this type of party disallowed boring black ties. His simple tailored Gucci suit would be fine, but what to do about that vulnerable spot at his throat? In a panic, he begged Pez to help and they conspired with his stylist. An hour later, about two dozen ties covered his floor.

“This one,” Pez suggested holding up a bright, coppery mustard tie in a narrow cut.

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Definitely not,” Pez said, tying it around Henry’s neck in a half windsor. “And it’ll look fantastic next to Alex’s burgundy.”

“I’m sure that’s neither here nor there,” said Henry, looking in the mirror. Pez rolled his eyes, and collapsed onto the couch. Luckily the stylist’s expression was neutral as she cleaned up the discarded ties. Henry busied himself with helping her and switched the conversation to June which could reliably distract Pez indefinitely.

As they flew across the Atlantic, Pez had to continually kick Henry to stop jiggling his legs. The nerves had him going batty and when he finally saw Alex, his nerves lit on fire. Once Alex spoke however, he remembered that they were best friends and his shoulders relaxed. This was the guy who had a Great Turkey Calamity after all.

“Nice tie,” Alex said.

Thanks, you look lovely too, thought Henry. He replied, “Thought I might be escorted off the premises for anything less exciting.”

It was so easy to flirt. So easy to walk, side by side through the crowd. To fall from conversation to easy conversation. To drink and dance and mingle. It was easy, even, to talk to June when she pulled him away from Alex to chat at the bar.

“So,” she said as the bartender gave them each a lemon drop shot. “What are your intentions with my baby brother?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nope, try again,” June scolded him. “He likes you.”

Henry laughed, and let the vodka to loosen his tongue. “I know.”

“He doesn’t know that he’s into guys yet though, does he?”

“I highly doubt it.”

“And he doesn’t know that you want to stargaze, and sing love ballads? Hold his hand and whisper sweet nothings?”

“I’m pretty sure he has no idea,” he agreed, ruefully. For a conversation about Henry’s deepest feelings, the mood was light. June seemed like a good type of person, the kind that he could be friends with. She reminded him of Bea, so maybe it’s a sister vibe that fueled their instant connection.

She fakes a frown and pats the top of his head. “It’s a cruel joke the world’s playing on you, isn’t it?”

“It’s alright, I have a fantastic sense of humor.” Henry sloppily poured himself champagne. “I’m rather hilarious, actually.”

“Prove it,” she challenged.

Oh dear.

“Your brother is like dandruff,” he began. “In that no matter how hard I try, I can’t get him out of my head.”

June nearly fell off her bar stool, laughing. “That was possibly the worst joke I have ever heard.”

“And yet you can’t breathe for laughter,” said Henry, lifting an eyebrow.

“You’re just lucky I’m drinking and in the holiday spirit.” They smiled at each other for a moment. “You know, I’m glad I invited you.”

“You invited me?” Henry asked. “Not Al-”

“No, no, Alex was far too nervous to invite the guy whose texts made him blush and giggle, like, fifty times a day.”

“Oh god.”

“Yes,” June said with a nod. “Speaking of, he’s staring at you again. You should probably attend to your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my-”

“Maybe not yet.” She gave him a pensive look, suddenly sincere. “You might need to help him figure it out though.”

Oh god.

And then there was Alex, coming to drag him back to the dance floor. Beautiful beautiful Alex. And Henry was just thinking about how June was right, how he wanted to hold Alex’s hand, and kiss under the stars. The fantasy of kissing progressed into more sensual imaginings as he watched Alex dance. What would those hips feel like, grinding against him? What would it feel like for Alex to run fingers through his hair?

When the ridiculous dancing American put his hands on Henry’s hips, it was nearly impossible to breathe. When Alex told Henry to look at him, he thought it was absurd to suggest that he’d be looking anywhere else. Stupid songs from the early 2000s filled the room, and Alex grabbed Henry by the lapel and ordered him to dance. In what must have been an act of mercy, Nora pulled Alex away to dance with her instead. As he jealously watched them grind, he imagined how it would feel to dance like that in public with somebody you like. He could never have that. Any relationship they could have would be doomed from the start.

But still, they were inevitable.

[sapphicambitions]

My Favorite / Underrated Lines of Red, White, and Royal Blue:

Just did a second read through and marked all of them. We all know and love lines like “Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams?” and “History, huh? Bet we could make some,” and “America: he is my choice,” but this books is a goldmine for fucking fantastic and romantic lines, so I made a list of them. Long post so under the cut!!

-Alex’s kind of love story is much more Shakespearean.

-”I’m trying to understand why you’re so committed to acting like someone you’re not, considering you just told the little girl in there that greatness means being true to yourself.”

-...and when he turns and catches his reflection in the mirror by the closet, he’s right back in his teens, caring too much about his parents and helpless to change his situation. Except now he doesn’t have any AP classes to enroll in as a distraction.

-Alex tries to imagine what they look like: the prince and the First Son, the two leading heartthrobs of their respective countries, shoulder to shoulder on their way to the bar. It’s intimidating and thrilling, living up to that kind of rich, untouchable fantasy.

-Maybe he can absorb some of the “much” from the place where their shoulders are pressed together.

-He thinks about Henry, and something twists in his chest, like a stretch he’s been avoiding for too long.

-”I don’t know, man. I was in my junior year of high school, and I touched a boob. It wasn’t very profound. Nobody’s gonna write an off broadway play about it.”

-How dare Henry come into Alex’s house looking like the goddamned James Bond offspring that he is, drink red wine with the Prime Minister, and act like he didn’t slip Alex the tongue and ghost him for a month.

-He feels himself standing at a very tall, very dangerous precipice, with no intention of backing away.

-He laughs into Henry’s mouth, instantly caught up in his own dramatic mental portrait of the two of them painted in oils, young icons of their nations, naked and shining wet in the lamplight.

-He rolls onto his side and listens, trails the back of his hand across the pillow next to him and imagines Henry lying opposite in his own bed, two parentheses enclosing 3,700 miles.

-”You have so much in you, it’s almost impossible to match it. But he’s your match, dumbass.”

-...because Alex has never met a challenge he didn’t love, and he--well, Henry is a challenge, head to toe, beginning to end.

-All those nights Henry can’t sleep, just knocking around these endless, impersonal rooms, like a bird trapped in a museum.

-Henry lets Alex take him apart with painstaking patience and precision, moans the name of God so many times that the room feels consecrated.

-He wants to call Henry. He guesses it makes sense--they’ve always been fixed points in each other’s world, little magnetic poles. Some laws of physics would be reassuring right now.

-He looks like something soft and downy Alex wants to sink into, and he realizes the knot of anxiety in his chest has finally slacked.

-If Alex’s head is a storm, Henry is the place lighting hits the ground.

-He truly is a picture, wearing an expression of bewildered panic and absolutely nothing else.

-”The phrase “see attached bibliography” is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.”

-”I do think I got a gut feeling about you, I just didn’t have what I needed in my head to understand it. But I kind of kept chasing it anyway, like I was just going blindly in a certain direction and hoping for the best. I guess that makes you the North Star?”

-”If I’m north, I shudder to think where in God’s name we’re going.”

-That long. That much.

-He wears the key to his childhood home around his neck, but he doesn’t know the last time he actually thought about the boy who used to push it into the lock.

-The lines of him are long and languid in the moonlight, just skin and skin lit soft and blue, and he’s so beautiful that Alex thinks this is the moment, the soft shadows and pale thighs and crooked smile, should be the portrait of Henry that goes down in History. There are fireflies winking around his head, landing in his hair. A crown.

-He wants to match the new freckles across Henry’s nose to the stars above them and make him name the constellations.

-That, he realizes suddenly, is the danger of allowing love into this--the acknowledgment that if something goes wrong, he doesn’t know how he will stand it.

-What if it was never his decision to make?

-He’s spent too much of his life talking, talking, talking not to know the signs when someone doesn’t want to hear him anymore.

-He thought he was reckless before, but he understands now--holding love off was the only thing keeping him from losing himself in this completely, and he’s gone, stupid, lovesick, a fucking disaster.

-And that is, officially, too fucking much.

-”When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you? Are you so fucking self-absorbed as to think this about you and whether or not I love you rather than the fact that I’m an heir to the fucking throne? You at least have the option to not chose a public life eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family so don’t you dare come to me and question if I love you when it’s the thing that could bloody well ruin everything.”

-Don’t miss it this time. He’s too important.

-”If there’s any legacy for me on this bloody earth, I want it to be true. So I can offer you all of me, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

-...and looks at his fingers and thinks about holding the Bible at his mother’s inauguration with the same hand. 

-He wonders what Santa Chiara would think of them, a lost David and Jonathan, turning slowly on the spot. 

-”Let me know if I need to start practicing gazing wistfully out the window, waiting for my love to return from the war.”

-”I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire.”

-Alex wants to go to war for this man, wants to get his hands on everything and everyone that ever hurt him, but for once, he’s trying to be the stead one.

-”You and me and history, remember? We’re gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else.”

-It would be a lie because it wouldn’t be him.

-”but i’ve kissed your mouth, that corner, the place it goes, so many times now, i’ve memorized it, topography on the map of you, a world i’m still charting. i know it. i added it to the key. here: inches to miles. i can multiply it out, read your latitude and longitude. recite your coordinates like la rosaria.

-The president stands on the edge of a career-ending scandal, measures her breaths evenly, and waits for her son to answer.

-And there’s no room left to agonize over it, nothing left to do but say the thing he’s know all along.

-One. One. One.

-Alex hasn’t been a good Catholic in a long time, but he knows confession is a sacrament. They were supposed to stay safe. Fuck.

-If Henry’s voice on the phone was a tether, his body is the gravity that makes it possible, his hand gripping the back of Alex’s neck like a magnetic force, a permanent compass north.

-”And he is prepared to give it all to you, which is far more than I ever, in a thousand years thought I would see him do.”

-”Are you so determined to believe nothing could change? That nothing should change? We can have a real legacy here, of hope, and love, and change.”

-Never tell me the odds.

-This is it. October 2, 2020, and the whole world watched, and history remembered.

-It’s been one long, long year of learning Henry inside and out, learning himself, learning how much he still has to learn, and just like that, it’s time to walk out there and stand at a podium and confidently declare it all as fact.

-The way Henry’s looking at him in the pitcher is so affectionate, so openly loving, that seeing it from a third person’s perspective almost makes Alex want to look away, like he’s staring into the sun. He called Henry the North Star once. That wasn’t bright enough.

-All at once, Alex is in love all over again.

-From his side, Henry, whose eyes are wet, seizes Alex’s face roughly with both hands and kisses him like the end of the movie.

-...Alex thinks his heart’s going to break trying to hold the size of this entire moment, the completeness of it, a thousand years of history swelling inside his ribcage.

-Goddamned forever.

[sprnklersplashes]

A New Hope (3/?)

AO3

They half-run back to the town hall, not wanting to spend too much time outside. Henry keeps glancing behind them, a protective hand on Hope’s back, worrying that another ogre, or something worse, could be rearing behind them. The air is too still, too silent, though that could be because none of them want to talk about what happened until they’re safely inside. Still, not even birds are flying above them. Henry wonders if the curse, or spell, or whatever it is that’s happened to the town, has affected the animals too, and makes a mental note to check the animals on his grandfather’s farm later.

He keeps rubbing his sister’s back, small circular motions to keep her grounded. She tries not to let on that she’s been affected badly by what she and Robin just pulled off but she’s paler than normal and light purple bags have formed under her eyes and she’s leaning more and more on him by the minute. He wraps his arm tighter around her and she takes the hint and buries her face in his jacket. Part of him wants to pick her up and carry her back, the same way he used to do after long days chasing her around a park when she was a kid, but he doesn’t. She won’t stop walking and he knows it’s to protect Gideon’s feelings more than her pride; Gideon would never let himself forget it if he knew Hope was hurt. Plus, he seems to be taking most of Robin’s weight.

Lucas jogs ahead a little and reaches the town hall a few steps ahead of them. When he pulls the door though, it doesn’t budge. He frowns and tugs it again, harder this time. When Henry catches up with him, he can hear the shaking metal against metal of the door scraping against the frame. Still nothing. Lucas frowns and takes a few steps back before running up and kicking it, which only sends him stumbling back and muttering a string of curses under his breath.

“Try knocking,” Gideon says helpfully. Lucas nods, sweeping his hair out of his eyes and shaking his wrists, trying to save what dignity he can.

“Alex! Philip, Mel!” he calls, knocking on the door. “Open up y’all, it’s us!”

Behind the door, the sound of chair scraping, locks unlocking and wood hitting the floor is heard, dragging on for thirty seconds, then a minute, then another minute. Under other circumstances, Henry would be laughing at this. He does raise an eyebrow, and when Robin groans into Gideon’s shoulder he does suppress a smile, despite Hope smacking him weakly on the shoulder.

Finally, the door opens to Alex, who looks relieved at the sight of them, until she sets eyes on a pale and panting Robin.

“What happened?” she asks as they file in.

“Uh, ogre, magic, pretty sure it disappeared,” Robin explains. Gideon sits her down in a chair and Alex kneels down next to her, looking from her girlfriend to the rest of them. Robin takes her hand and squeezes it gently, telling her something Henry can’t make out. Alex smiles slightly and kisses her forehead.

Henry helps Hope into another chair. She takes in deep breaths and clutches the edge of her chair tightly.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pushing her hair out of her face. Her skin is cool and clammy and he winces.

“I’m fine,” she says. She moves to push his hand away but ends up wobbling herself, grabbing his shoulder for balance. “I’m fine.”

“You’re an awful liar,” he tells her, which doesn’t marry well with the fact she’s stubborn as a damn mule. Hope looks over her shoulder and Henry follows her gaze. Gideon is standing over with Lucas, pressing his joined hands to his mouth, looking at Robin. Then he looks over at Hope and Henry can see his face fall. Hope sees it too.

“I will be fine,” she says. “Just get me some water and a cookie and…” She closes her eyes and buries her fingers in his jacket. “Make the world stop spinning for a second.”

“I can do the first two,” he promises, making her laugh. He gets up and runs to the tiny kitchen in the town hall. He had first encountered it when he was eighteen, volunteering at a Christmas fundraising bake sale. Honestly, he had had no idea it had even existed until then, but now he’s glad he does. He takes out two plastic cups and fills them with water before checking the cupboards. There’s got to be a packet of cookies around there somewhere. Chances are they’ll be a little bit stale but Hope and Robin are going to need some sugar. He finds a packet, slips them into his jacket pocket and lifts the two cups. When he turns to go, Gideon is standing in the doorway, looking at the floor, his feet crossed, his hair hiding his face.

“Hey, Gid,” he says gently. He lifts his head slightly, guilt written all over his face. He’s always been one to wear his emotions all over his face.

“Are Hope and Robin okay?” he asks. Henry runs his hand through his hair, tugging at it slightly and sighs.

“They’ll be okay,” he assures him. “A little bit of sugar and rest, and we’ll never know anything happened.”

“But something did happen,” he points out. He clenches his fist tightly. “I shouldn’t have pushed them like that.”

“Hey, hey,” Henry replies softly. “Look, Gideon, you did what you had to do. You saved us from… whatever that was.”

“I know,” he mutters, his tone utterly deflated. “But Hope and Robin could’ve been hurt.”

“You could have been hurt too,” he reminds him, kneeling down to eye level with him and gripping his shoulder softly. “But you weren’t. And they’re fine too.” Gideon tucks his chin into his chest, trying to avoid Henry’s eyes, but Henry takes him chin gently and tilts his head up. “Look, Gid, this was impossible. You were the only one who thought of a plan back there. Don’t worry about Robin and Hope. Heroes tend to get a few scratches along the way.” Henry rubs circles on Gideon’s arms. “Come on, kid, don’t beat yourself up.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding to himself. “Okay.” Henry smiles and stands back up. He knows Gideon isn’t convinced; he takes on more blame than he should. Gideon sometimes seems far more mature than sixteen. But right now, there’s stuff to do and he knows he can’t convince him otherwise. He just hopes Gideon can work it out for himself.

“Here,” he hands him a cup of water and two cookies. “Give that to Robin. I’ll take care of Hope.” Gideon smiles and takes them. “And really, Gideon, try not to think too hard on it. We both know if you didn’t think of something, it would have been Hope charging at it with a sword herself.”

That, finally, gets a real smile out of him.

                                                                                                               *****

Robin lets out a long, steady breath. The cookie Gideon brought her must have magic in it, she thinks, because its starting to make a world of difference, clearing her head and letting her form coherent thoughts and sentences with more than five words. The world is still tilting slightly and her legs feel like lead just sitting down, she’s not even going to chance trying to move, but she’s starting to feel more herself.

Although, with the way Alex is sitting next to her, brushing her hair away from her forehead and holding her water and helping her drink, she must look far worse than she feels.

“I’m not dying, Alex,” she reminds her with a smile. A time crosses her mind when she was sick last year, just a few weeks after she and Alex started dating, and Alex had gone full-on mother hen mode, texting her during school hours and climbing through her bedroom window to check on her.

The stand off between Alex and her mother had been pretty amusing to watch.

“I know,” she replies, touching her forehead for the second time in the past three minutes. “Just making sure.”

“Yeah I know you are,” she replied softly, taking Alex’s hand and running her thumb over her knuckles and trying to smile.

“You okay?” she asks, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear.

“Fine,” she says. She shakes her head for just a moment, but the movement makes her dizzy and she grabs Alex’s shoulder with her free hand. “Remind me not to do that again.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she half-laughs. She frowns and looks up at her, her eyes scanning her face. “Rob… you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” she repeats. “Just tired.” Alex raises one eyebrow, silently communicating ‘I’m tired too, tired of your bullshit’. She looks around them at the rest of their little group. Gideon, Lucas and Philip sit in a little bunch in a corner, lost in their conversation. Hope is sitting on a chair a few rows in front of her; Henry sits in front of her, holding one of her hands and talking to her, while Melody stands off to the side, playing with the hem of her skirt and casting longing glances at Hope when she thinks no one is watching her.

Poor girl.

Robin looks back at Alex, whose eyes are wide and who is giving her an encouraging smile, the kind that makes her feel like she can open up her heart and let everything out. Relieve the weight that’s pressing down on her, making it hard to breathe.

“It’s just… That was hard,” she admits.  “Using all that magic…” Alex nods. Late at night, over the phone and in person, Robin’s magic has come up a lot. How it’s nowhere near as strong as her mother’s, or even Hope’s. She can amuse her friends by making roses bloom or making things disappear and sometimes pushing herself to “poof” as Emma calls it food into her room, but they both know she pales in comparison to every other magic user in Storybrooke.

“Of course it was hard,” Alex insists. “Heck, even Hope is wrecked after that.”

“You know what I mean, Al,” she sighs. “This whole magic thing… it’s still hard for me.” Alex nods again. She doesn’t say anything but she kneels up and kisses Robin’s forehead.

Maybe that made her feel a little better.

“Hey,” Robin says, tapping Alex’s shoulder to get her attention. When she looks at her, Robin moves and kisses her lips this time. Alex hums in contentment for a brief moment before pulling away, sooner than Robin would have liked. Although, she is starting to get dizzy again. Still, she pouts.

“Get better first,” Alex orders. “Then we can do whatever you want.”

“Is that a promise?” Alex laughs and kisses her head.

“It’s a promise.” She gets up and sits on the chair beside Robin, wrapping her arms around her. Robin wriggles so that she can rest her cheek on her chest, listening to her heartbeat, closing her eyes against the rhythm. Alex traces patterns on her back and arms, almost making Robin forget that her mother is lying in a coma a block away and that the street outside has been demolished by an ogre.

It briefly crosses her mind that it’ll be hard to hug Alex like this if she’s in LA in two years, but she lets that thought go, wanting to put it aside until this is all over.

                                                                                               *****

“Hey, Hope.” Hope looks up and sees Melody standing next to her chair, kicking the ground in her patent shoes and moving ever so slightly so that her skirt swishes gently. “How are you feeling.”

“Okay,” she says, and it’s not untrue. She does genuinely feel better, a lot sooner than she expected too. Her head is clearer, she’s not feeling dizzy anymore (although she hasn’t tried standing yet and that could very much change everything), and she finds it significantly easier to breathe. She’s never used that much magic before, and as exhausted as it made her, she has to admit the after effect is kind of amazing. She feels stronger somehow, like she could do it again. Her body hums with magic, her veins warm and fizzing.

“That was really cool,” Melody says. “What you did out there. Pretty brave.”

“It was nothing,” Hope says, lacing her fingers together. “I mean anyone else would have done the same.”

“Nah,” Melody corrects her. “You’re kind of a hero.”

Hope feels everything stop. Her heart, every other person in the town hall, everyone else in Maine, probably everything in the whole world. Nothing else matters for about five seconds, only the fact that Melody just called her a hero.

“T-thanks,” she mutters in response, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I mean, it wasn’t just me. Robin was there and it was kind of all Gideon’s idea, but…” Melody smiles, dimples in her cheeks, and sits down on the seat in front of her, leaning on the back of the chair. She taps her fingernails on the chair, chewing her lip. Her big brown eyes start looking sadder and Hope remembers everything that’s happened since that morning. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” she asks, surprised. “I mean… I’m fine, but I didn’t do anything.”

“I know,” she says. “But everything’s been kind of crazy since we got up this morning. So, how you holding up?” She laughs at herself. She sounds just like her mom. Melody huffs out a laugh and ducks her head slightly so that her ponytail falls over her shoulder, half hiding her face.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “This has all just been so weird. I keep thinking it’s a dream, you know?”

“Thinking or hoping?” Hope asks. She smiles but doesn’t answer.

“It has to work out, right?” she asks. “It always works out for the good guys.”

“I guess,” she says. “My grandma would say good always wins.”

“My mom says that too,” Melody says. “She says to just do good things and the world will give good things to you. But I guess she was kind of wrong.”

“What makes you think that?” she asks. Truthfully, she’s never been one hundred percent convinced about her grandparent’s philosophy of ‘things will work out’. She’s discovered she tends to be more of a cynic and guesses she gets it from her father.

“Because this is happening,” she answers. “This isn’t a good thing.”

“Yeah… ever notice how bad stuff keeps happening to the heroes first?” she asks. “I mean what’s up with that?” If Ariel’s philosophy was true, then nothing bad would ever happen to heroes; they’d live forever sitting on cotton candy clouds and drinking champagne or whatever from diamond glasses while riding on unicorns. And they wouldn’t have problems talking to pretty girls. Or have to deal with ogres or comatose parents.

“They win in the end though,” Melody reminds her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she sighs. “Just after a whole lot of pain.”

“Hey.” Mel reaches out her hand and Hope hesitates for a moment before taking it. She expects her to shake her head and tell her that she was just pointing to something on the floor behind her, but she doesn’t. She just keeps holding her hand and making Hope’s heart skip a beat. “I think we’ll get through this with minimal pain.”

The bluntness in her statement, the ridiculousness of it all, makes Hope burst into laughter.

“Minimal pain,” she echoes, giggling. “That’s optimistic.” Melody laughs back, small but bright.

They keep holding hands like that until the feeling Hope can only describe as buzzing fades away and Mel’s arm begins cramping and she pulls her hand away, smiling shyly. Hope curls her hands in her lap, looking at her bitten and worn fingernails, the splatter of paint on her palm, left from this morning when she was just worrying about her painting and nothing else.

“I hope you’re right,” she says. “Gideon sometimes says I need more of what I’m named after.”

“I think you’re smart,” Melody tells her and it makes Hope’s head snap up. “I mean, the way you see the world. The way you look at stories, how you notice stuff like how bad stuff happens to the heroes first.”

“Oh, thanks,” is all she can say. “Henry says that every story needs villains and bad stuff, otherwise it wouldn’t start and there’d be no story in the first place.”

“Do you believe him?” Melody asks. Hope looks over to where her brother is sitting against the wall, his eyes on Gideon, who is in his own group with Lucas and Philip.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Thing is, stuff like this isn’t stories. It was real life. For our parents and now it is for us.”

“Wow,” she whispers. “That was real deep.”

Hope hides her face behind her hair, but she’s smiling, the butterflies in her stomach taking off. Although, she thinks as she presses her hand to her stomach, that might not just be butterflies.

“Hey, is anyone else hungry?” Philip asks, addressing the whole room, and Hope honestly wants to hug him. “I’m starving.”

                                                                                                *****

Of everything they’ve seen so far, an empty, silent Granny’s is the most startling. Their footsteps seem to echo on the linoleum, the sound bouncing off the walls. Granny’s always feels like the heart of Storybrooke, and even on the most quiet days they could count on Leroy drinking coffee at the bar or Archie coming in for a pastry after closing his office. Right now there’s only them. They don’t ever remember feeling so small in here.

They slide into a booth; it’s a tight fit with seven of them, but they make it work, even if it means Melody gets squished against the wall. At least for the couples of the group it’s not an unfamiliar situation. Henry takes a chair from one of the tables and seats it at the edge of the table.

“So… do any of you know how to work the stuff here?” Robin asks. “Because I sure as heck don’t.”

“Did you just say ‘heck’?” Lucas asks, snorting, thinking about how much she can swear when she wants to. Robin raises her eyebrow at him, somehow wordlessly conveying the message ‘yes I did because there are children here’.

“Can’t be too hard,” Henry says, getting up and going to the kitchen. After a brief, non-verbal discussion involving looking around the table, all of them get up and follow him. They move as a group, still tense from the previous ogre attack. Being left alone isn’t a very appealing thought right now.

“Wow,” Philip remarks as they step into the kitchen, into Granny’s world of heavy metal machinery and silver trays. It’s big enough and has three large ovens built into the silver walls and two three doors, one marked ‘dry goods’ one marked ‘fridge’ and one marked ‘freezer’. “This is… now what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?” Alex asks.

“Not sure,” he replies as Henry begins looking through the dry goods cupboard. “Ever watched MasterChef?”

Henry emerges from the dry goods store with a triumphant smile on his face, three bags of pasta, a tub of some kind of sauce and a bag of celery.

“Uh… are you sure you can make something with all that?” Hope asks, wrinkling her nose.

“You realise I’ve lived on my own for over a decade?” he asks, kicking the door closed. “I’ve got this. Give me half an hour and a bit of love and patience.”

Sure enough, nearly thirty minutes later, they’re all sitting at the bar, eating tomato-sauce covered pasta covered with chopped celery, and it’s not as bad as Hope thought it would be. In fact, it actually tastes pretty good, which is odd, considering her brother has rarely cooked for her ever since he set fire to a chicken and her dad banned him from the kitchen under the guise of not wanting him to stress himself.

“You don’t make it like Granny does,” she points out, making Henry roll his eyes.

“I know, but she keeps her recipes in a locked and bolted box in her room.

“You should have gone for it,” Lucas says. “Maybe it would have woken her up.” A laugh ripples throughout the group, but they fall silent. Lucas’ remark reminded them of what they’re really up against and how damn helpless they all are.

“So what should we do now?” Philip asks. They look from one another and then all look to Henry, like he would have all the answers. When Hope was younger she used to believe he did, and maybe a part of her still does.

“Um, okay…” he says. “Well, we should set up a base. Try to work out what we’re facing.”

“Okay, so where?” Robin asks, pushing pasta around her plate.

“The library,” Gideon says firmly. “It’s got everything we need, right? Books, lockable doors.”

“And access to the mines,” Henry adds. “Just in case we need to make a quick getaway.” He looks to the rest of them, hoping for some sort of reaction. “Sound good?”

They all murmur some form of yes with quick, small nods.

“I think we should suit up as well,” Robin adds. “Get weapons, just in case. You never know, Mr Ogre might come back. Or one of his friends.” Everyone turns to face her. Hope finds herself surprised by the suggestion, but then again, it’s not entirely unreasonable. In fact, she’s surprised no one thought of it sooner. Still, the thought of having to defend herself doesn’t sit well with her.

“Robin’s right,” Henry agrees. “Right, let’s go get whatever we can and then meet at the library.”

“We’ll need other stuff too,” Melody adds. “Like, sleeping bags and stuff. And toothbrushes. And fresh clothes…”

“Do you think we’re on vacation here, Mel?” Lucas asks.

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Henry says. He pushes himself off his stool and straightens himself up, putting his hands on his hips. An image of their grandfather from the storybook comes to Hope’s mind. “We’ll go back to our own places and grab whatever we need. Pack light and meet in the library in half an hour. You all have your cell phones? Call if anything happens. Also, we’re using the buddy system.” Robin and Alex join hands as they jump off their seats. Meanwhile, Gideon looks over at Melody, who looks at the floor, and back at Lucas.

“Henry, can you grab my stuff from my room?” he asks. Henry frowns but nods. “You know what I need. Melody, I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” she asks, smiling.

“Sure. They can manage without me for a bit.” He looks back over at Lucas, who is already standing with Philip, and they both nod at him.

“Okay, half an hour,” Henry repeats.

He and Hope leave first, his hand on her back, and run out into the deserted streets. Wind blows throughout the empty town, blowing discarded rubbish around.

They reach their house soon, Hope’s sneakers creaking against the floorboards. She feels Henry’s hands on her shoulders as they cross the threshold.

“Okay, go get packed,” he tells her. “I’ll get my stuff and Gideon’s.”

She runs up to her room, her footsteps loud on the wooden stairs, her hand trailing along the baby blue wall.

Once in her room, she dumps the contents of her schoolbag on her bed, scattering old tests and her pencil case and candy wrappers and drawings. She looks up and checks the clock on her wall. 1:30. This time 24 hours ago, she was sitting in math class, pretending to be watching a movie while she was playing tic tac toe with Ariana, the girl sitting next to her. The girl who was in a come because she was born in the Enchanted Forest.

She hurries and stuffs another jacket, a few pairs of underwear, her brush and her pyjamas into the bag. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes one of her sketchbooks, the one with the most blank pages, off the shelf and slides it in, hiding it among the clothes, and a pack of pencils. Then she gets logical and tosses in her phone charger before closing it, shaking it to make sure it’s not too heavy. Just in case she has to run with it.

Satisfied, she moves to the foot of her bed and opens the white painted wooden box at the bottom of it, moving extra blankets and old stuffed animals until her hand hits woods. She struggles but succeeds in lifting out the long rectangular box and opens it to see a silver cutlass sitting on red velvet, complete with leather sheath. Her parents had given her it for her last birthday, her dad declaring that now she was in high school, she was old enough to learn how to fight. She hopes that the few sword lessons he had given her would come in handy as she straps it around her waist, wishing now that she’d joined the fencing club in school.

She puts her bag on her back and leaves to meet Henry, the cutlass tapping against her leg.

She passes her parents’ silent room as she goes and her blood runs cold. She looks over in the direction of Gideon’s room; straining her ears and just about hears Henry moving about in there. He could be in there for at least a few minutes.

She presses her hand against her parents’ door and slowly pushes it open. Inside, their room is exactly the same as they’d left her; her parents still wrapped up in each other, still breathing slowly, so slowly that she could be tricked into thinking they were dead.

She swallows the lump in her dry throat and creeps in, forgetting about the door behind her. She inches closer towards the bed, wiping her sweaty hands on her overalls, her eyes beginning to sting. She falls to her knees beside her mom, her hand wrapping around hers. It’s cold and makes her wince. Her breathing nearly falls in rhythm with her mom’s, her lungs apparently refusing anything other than the bare minimum. She reaches out with her other hand and brushes Emma’s hair away from her forehead while the tears start running down her cheeks.

“Please come back,” she whispers desperately before she kisses her mom’s forehead.

She doesn’t know what to expect. If Henry couldn’t wake her, why would she? Still, she allows herself to, for a moment, live up to her name.

There’s nothing. No rainbow, no wind, no warmth. Her mom continues lying there, dead to the world. Dead to her.

Hope presses her hands against her mouth to muffle her cries. Her whole body shakes, she pulls her knees up to her chest and gasps for air, choking slightly in the process. She wants to curl up on the floor and keep crying until there’s nothing left inside of her. Or until her parents wake up. One of the two.

“Hey,” a soft voice whispers behind her. She feels her brother’s arms circle her and pull her against his chest, sitting her on his legs and resting his chin on her head. She feels the pressure of a kiss on the back of her head and all through it, she keeps crying. “I know, I know, kid. I know.”

They sit like that for who knows how long, Hope crying and Henry kissing her head and telling her that he knows, that it’ll be okay, that he’s got her. She clings to his arms, taking comfort in the only alive, awake thing in the room other than her.

“We have to go,” he tells her gently. “We said meet in half an hour.” She nods numbly, still sniffling but the tears on her cheeks are almost dried. “Come on.” She lets Henry lift her to her feet. And take her by the hand, leading her down the stairs like she’s five not fifteen.

“Wait,” she says just before they leave. She quickly checks her reflection in the hallway mirror. Red eyes and a pale face and spiky eyelashes. “I don’t look like I was crying, do I?”

“I don’t think anyone would blame you if you did,” he says, neatly avoiding the question and opening the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

The town it still deathly quiet outside as they run down the porch steps and into the street, but it doesn’t last. A low rumble echoes through the air, and the hairs on the back of Hope’s neck stand up.

“What is that?” Henry asks. He looks to the sky, but Hope looks out at the street, down towards the town line. Something inside her tells her that’s where the trouble is.

She’s proven right a few seconds later; out in the distance, she sees something shooting up against the sky just as the rumbling gets louder.

“What the hell?” Henry asks, more to himself than to her.

“It’s out at the town line,” Hope says.

“Just when you think today can’t get freakier,” he mumbles. “Let’s go.”

“What about everyone else?”

“Come on, you know they’ll be checking this out too,” he tells her. He’s not wrong. She can’t imagine any of her friends will stand back and stay safe while this is going down. They pick up their paces and break out into a run towards the town line. Hope’s heart pounds both from running and fear as they get closer and closer to whatever is going on at the damn town line.

Whatever it is, it couldn’t be worse than an ogre. Could it?

[god--baby]

jealousy pt 5

patrick hockstetter X henry bowers

masterpost

previously on: the guys go to the quarry. henry tells belch. patrick and henry fuck around.

summary: henry and patrick fuck around some more. Henry gets scared shitless and violently dissociates, Patrick fucks him. 

word count: 3209

The next day, they had a party to go to. They hung out the whole day, Patrick all over Henry, whispering daddy to him, one hand in his back pocket, teeth on his earlobe, lips on his neck. They split from the guys halfway through to fuck around, jerking each other off and laying on Henry’s bed, talking about nothing until neither of them had anything else to say.

The phone rang. Henry got up and answered it.

“Henry,” said a girl’s voice from the other end.

“Who’s this?”

“Alex.”

He could hear her smiling.

“Alex,” he said slowly as Patrick came up behind him, putting his arms around his stomach, kissing his neck. “Nice to hear from you again.”

“Well, my parents aren’t home, so I can just tell you. I want you to fuck me again, baby.”

“Baby,” Patrick hissed.

Henry turned in his arms to look at him. He was deadly jealous. Pissed off already.

“Alex,” Henry said, “hold on for a second.”

“Okay?” she said.

Henry put his hand over the receiver.

“Should we fuck her together?” he asked.

Patrick made a face like he was sucking on mold. His upper lip curled.

“Alex?” Henry said.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You should probably stop calling me that. I kinda found someone else.”

“Oh… okay.”

She sounded terribly disappointed.

“Yeah. Well. ‘Bye,” Henry said.

“’Bye.”

He hung up and Patrick pulled him in for a hungry kiss.

When the kiss had ended, Henry was smiling.

“What, you don’t want daddy fucking anyone else?” he said, grinning.

“I don’t mind us fucking someone together,” Patrick said, getting on his knees. “I just don’t want you to fuck her.”

He undid Henry’s pants and pulled his dick out, punctuating the last word with a little lick to the head, and a smile. That smile that put knots in Henry’s stomach.

Henry grinned down at him, hands in his hair, petting, pulling. Patrick closed his eyes and pushed his head into Henry’s hands.

“You don’t want to share me with her,” Henry said. “Why?”

“You know why,” Patrick said, opening his eyes. They were burning.

“’Cause I fucked her to get away from you?”

They both heard a car door slam in the front yard. Henry, suddenly terrified, pushed Patrick away from him and put his dick away, yanking Patrick to his feet.

Butch opened the front door, eyes narrowed at Patrick’s form. He hated Patrick. It was like he could smell the gay on him. Henry and Butch had never talked about it, about how Patrick was obviously not entirely straight. But Butch had made it completely clear that he didn’t like Patrick.

“Boys,” Butch said.

“Hello, Mr. Bowers,” Patrick said, putting on the face he used on adults.

“Hello, Patrick. And why are you here?”

“We’re going out in a couple hours, sir,” Henry supplied.

“Mm. Bring me a beer.”

Henry did, going to the kitchen, leaving Patrick standing by the phone. He got a beer, brought it to his father. He stood by as Butch settled into his armchair and opened the beer, lit a cigarette, turned on the TV.

Butch waved his hand, dismissing Henry, and Henry walked away, jerking his head towards Patrick to signal to him they were going to his room.

They walked into it and Henry shut the door behind him. Slowly, Patrick came up behind him and pushed him, chest to door. Pressed up behind him, he kissed a line up Henry’s neck.

“Patrick,” Henry hissed under the sound of the TV, “what the fuck are you doing?”

“Wanna see how quiet you can be, daddy,” Patrick murmured.

“Fuck off,” Henry said, turning around to face Patrick. “Bad idea.”

“No,” said Patrick. He got to his knees, undoing Henry’s pants before he could think about it. “We didn’t get to finish. I want to do this, daddy.”

Henry swallowed, looking down at Patrick, so sweetly kneeling for him. Tentative, shaking out of fear, he put a hand in Patrick’s hair.

This was such a bad idea. This was a terrible idea.

But Patrick took the head of Henry’s dick into his mouth, circling it with his tongue, and Henry closed his eyes, letting it happen, gently pulling Patrick’s hair. He put his head back, against the door, and let Patrick blow him.

He came a few minutes later with a soft sigh, and Patrick swallowed, standing. He kissed him, deep, pushing his tongue into his mouth, and Henry put his hand in his hair, not pulling, just there.

“C’mon,” Patrick said, putting Henry’s dick away. “Let’s go to my house, daddy.”

For some reason, Henry swallowed. Still afraid.

He’d have to walk past Butch, knowing full well a guy had just blown him. Not just a guy, but a guy his father hated. He closed his eyes, breathing picking up until it was hard, his heart racing harder than it had when he’d come.

He pushed Patrick away just as Patrick was about to kiss him and went to his set of drawers. He pulled out a clean shirt and pulled his shirt off, putting the new one on. He looked down at himself. This would have to be good enough for the party.

When he turned to face Patrick, he caught that look that Patrick had more often that he’d prefer. He was looking at Henry like he was trying to pull him apart, trying to understand what made him tick.

“Why are you so afraid?” Patrick asked, quiet.

“You know why. Don’t play dumb.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows and looked away. Then, he held out a hand, waiting. Henry walked to him and took his hand, squeezing it and then dropping it. He opened his bedroom door and left the room, not looking behind him to see if Patrick was following.

Because Patrick, for better or worse, would always follow. Henry didn’t need to look to be sure. It was just how it had always been.

Slowly, they walked across town to Patrick’s house. Not talking. Not doing much of anything. When they got to Patrick’s house, they let themselves in and walked past his parents, sitting quietly in the sitting room.

They went to Patrick’s room in the basement. It was dark and quiet, and exactly what Henry needed. He flopped down on Patrick’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Patrick laid down beside him, then put his head on his chest. Henry ran his hands through his hair, humming one note, then another. Not thinking. Still terrified. Listening to the humming and standing on it in his mind, keeping himself grounded.

He had to do this from time to time when Butch scared him shitless — whether or not that was Butch’s intention. But sometimes, when he was afraid, he’d pull back into his mind, away from the world, tuck himself away until there was nothing that could hurt him.

“Where are you?” Patrick asked, tracing circles on his chest with one finger.

“’M right here,” Henry murmured, pausing his humming to do it. He picked the humming right back up as soon as the words were out.

“No, you’re not. You’re somewhere else in that pretty little head.”

Henry shrugged. It jostled Patrick’s head, but Patrick didn’t care.

“Come back out,” Patrick said. Patrick commanded. “Don’t go somewhere I can’t go with you.”

“What,” Henry laughed, his own voice seeming so far away. “You in love with me or something? Wanna go everywhere I do?”

“Or something,” Patrick said, finding one of Henry’s nipples through his shirt and gently pinching at it. “I just don’t like you somewhere I can touch you and it doesn’t matter.”

Henry looked at him blankly, eyes basically not seeing him. He didn’t answer.

“You’re safe with me,” Patrick said.

It was such a stupid thing to say, so obviously wrong, that Henry laughed, the spell broken. He was back out in the real world for a moment, and Patrick could tell.

“I’m never safe with you,” Henry laughed.

Patrick grinned, that scary smile he saved for moments like this. For when someone underestimated him.

“You’re safe from him when you’re with me,” he said.

Henry swallowed and looked away.

He was never safe from Butch. He could only pretend he was.

Patrick leaned up and pressed his lips to Henry’s jaw. Henry closed his eyes and put a hand in Patrick’s hair, letting him do what he wanted. He kissed all over Henry’s jaw, his chin, in little lines down his neck. He unbuttoned Henry’s shirt and set to sucking on one of Henry’s nipples. Henry closed his eyes, just enjoying it, not doing anything else.

“I’d kill him,” Patrick said, lips brushing Henry’s skin. “I’d kill him.”

“Don’t,” Henry said, eyes still closed. He could feel himself slipping back into his own little world. Seemed like it was going to be hard to leave it today.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“I’ll talk however I want to, daddy.”

“Mm. Just. Not right now.”

“You’re gone again, aren’t you?”

“Mm.”

“Henry,” Patrick said. It sounded like a whine. “Pay attention to me.”

Henry smiled and opened his eyes. He exhaled and grabbed Patrick by the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He was trying to ground himself, focus on their mouths together, but the world felt like static. It felt like his whole body fell asleep, all pins and needles, blood rushing through it, trying to wake up.

Patrick crawled on top of him, grinding down on him. Henry looked up at him, eyes blank. He still wasn’t back, and for some reason, Patrick smiled.

“Wait,” Patrick said, “I could do just about anything to you right now. Couldn’t I?”

Slowly, Henry shrugged. He wasn’t really in the mood for anything, but he was trying. He was trying.

Patrick tilted his head and again looked at him like he was trying to pull him apart by the seams. Searching for a loose thread to yank.

Henry just stared at him. He kinda wanted to do something, but he was so far gone, it was hard to muster up the enthusiasm he needed.

“Tell me you want me to have my way with you,” Patrick said.

“I want you to do whatever you want,” Henry said without hesitation.

He wasn’t sure he meant it. He looked up at Patrick, just thinking. Just wondering.

“You do? Say yes.”

“Yes.”

Patrick’s grin just got bigger.

He got off of Henry, undoing Henry’s pants and pulling them down to his knees. Then he rolled him over onto his stomach, pulling his hips up until Henry got the message and knelt, head still down. He looked over his shoulder as Patrick kissed the dimples on his lower back, one and then the other. Patrick pulled his boxers down, kissing his ass as it was exposed. Kissing his upper thighs, scooting his knees open, licking a long line from Henry’s balls to his asshole.

Henry sighed and closed his eyes. It felt good, even though it felt like it was happening a million miles away. Patrick spread his ass and started eating him out like he was a girl, pushing his tongue in and pulling it out to just lick at him.

Henry wondered dimly if this was what Patrick used to do with those other guys. He’d figured Patrick was the one to get played with, to get fucked. But he didn’t do this like he’d never done it before — he never did anything like he’d never done it before. He was always so confident, so in control.

Unwanted, the image of Patrick eating some faceless guy’s ass came to Henry’s mind. Unwanted, he moaned as Patrick pushed his tongue into him. He reached up to put a hand over his mouth, and Patrick pulled it away.

“No one’s gonna hear us, daddy,” he said. “Just be good for me. No one’s gonna hear us.”

“Fuck, Patrick,” Henry said softly.

“You like it?” Patrick asked, licking his thumb and dragging it over Henry’s hole. “You like it when I eat your ass, daddy?”

Henry didn’t answer, swallowing instead.

Patrick licked his thumb again and slowly pushed just one digit into Henry. Henry let out a slow and shaky breath. Patrick pushed in deeper, and Henry could feel himself waking up. Slowly, slowly, he was coming to.

Patrick took his thumb out and licked at Henry again, pushing his tongue in and pulling it out. In again and out, so slowly it took Henry’s breath away.

Henry opened his eyes as Patrick reached into the bedside table for a bottle. He pulled it out. Clear plastic with a red lid. Half full.

Lube. Patrick was going to lube up his ass.

And Henry couldn’t bring himself to care.

Patrick popped the top and squirted some out onto his hand, spreading it around, wiping the excess off on Henry’s hole. Then he pushed a finger back in. Henry sighed — it was much more smooth this way. Slippery and a little cold, but good.

“You like that?” Patrick asked. “Tell me you like it. Like my fingers in your ass.”

As he said it, he added another finger. Henry knew, dimly, in the back of his mind, that he was being stretched out to get fucked, but he couldn’t care. He also knew that it wasn’t supposed to go that way, that Patrick should be the one getting fucked, but again, he couldn’t care.

Before he was out of that spiraling train of thought, Patrick had added another finger. He was up to three, now, and Henry was breathing hard. He was surprised to realize that — surprised to come closer to being in control only to find that he was worked up.

Patrick leaned down, pressing all of him back up behind Henry as he hissed, “I’m gonna fuck that little asshole, daddy. You want that?”

Henry, making a great effort, nodded.

“Good,” Patrick growled, nipping at his earlobe.

For about half a minute, Henry wasn’t being touched. For about half a minute, he pulled himself together, struggling to be a little more cognizant, a little more in control. He adjusted his knees, pulled his arms under his head, took a few deep breaths. By the time he had forced himself back into the space behind his eyes, Patrick was slowly pushing his dick into Henry’s ass for the first time.

Henry ran a hand down his face, groaning. It felt like he was being turned inside out. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to feel like this or not — maybe all gay guys are just really into pain — but it was okay. He could take it.

And he did. With Patrick’s grip bruising on his hips, Patrick slowly fucked him and Henry moaned into the bedspread.

“You’re back, aren’t you?” Patrick asked. He sounded disappointed.

“Yeah,” said Henry. “I’m back.”

“Too bad,” Patrick said. “I was having fun fucking you like a toy.”

Henry swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, he said, “you wanna do that, wait ‘til I’m asleep. Maybe don’t fuck me when I’m out of my head.”

“Aw, but it’s fun,” Patrick said, punctuating that with a faster, harder thrust.

Henry put his face into the mattress and shouted, a short guttural thing.

“Fuck, Patrick,” he gasped, pulling his face from the blanket. “Fuck.”

“Feel good, daddy?”

“Yeah. Feels good.”

“Good. Fucking fag, letting me fuck your ass.”

Henry’s cheeks heated up. He put a hand over his eyes.

He wasn’t completely gay. But — oh, fuck — but it felt good and Patrick knew what he was doing and it was… it was okay.

To be a little bit gay. It was okay.

Patrick kept pumping into him, coming a minute later with a sigh. Henry was surprised that he couldn’t feel it inside him, couldn’t feel it until Patrick pulled out, and it trickled down his thighs.

Patrick licked it up, reaching under Henry to grab his dick, to stroke it hard and fast as he went back to eating out his ass.

Henry put his hand around Patrick’s on his dick, helping him get to a better pace. He came quick, Patrick’s name on his lips.

Exhausted, he fell forward, pulling his hand up to lick up the cum. Patrick laid beside him, on his side, facing him, that look in his eye telling him he couldn’t quite believe Henry was real, or something. Like he expected Henry to disappear.

“What’s that look for?” Henry asked.

“You really want me to fuck you when you’re asleep?” Patrick asked. Henry knew he was changing the subject.

“I mean, you can. I’d prefer that to you fucking me when I’m messed up all the time,” Henry said. “Like when you got me high. And when… when I’m being all crazy and in my head, maybe… maybe you shouldn’t fuck me.”

Patrick scowled.

“Listen, Patrick, I’m allowed to have like, boundaries and shit,” Henry said.

“Yeah, yeah. You should go to sleep.”

Henry huffed out a laugh.

“Why? So you can fuck me again?” he asked.

“No, ‘cause you’re fucking tired and we’re gonna be up late. It totally has nothing to do with your loose asshole.”

Henry grinned, then yawned.

“Fuck,” he said. “Okay.”

He closed his eyes, and slept, dreaming of Patrick fucking him again. When he woke up, Patrick was eating his own cum out of Henry again, slowly, gently.

“Oh, hey, Patrick,” Henry said, because he could think of nothing else to say.

“Hey, daddy. You want some cum?”

Henry laughed.

“Nah. Thanks, though.”

“’Kay.”

After a minute, Patrick laid down beside Henry.

“We have to go, soon,” he said. “Party and shit.”

“Yeah,” Henry yawned. “Yeah.”

Still, he didn’t move, and Patrick sighed, getting up. He slapped Henry’s ass once, not too hard, and walked away, turning on some music and humming along. He changed, as Henry watched, into a shirt he’d stolen from Henry forever ago. The arms were looser on him than Henry, and Henry huffed out a laugh, pushing himself onto his back and sitting up, then standing, pulling himself together, pulling his boxers and pants back on.

“What’s that for?” Patrick asked.

“Huh?”

“You laughed.”

“’Cause you got spaghetti arms, dude.”

“You like them.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

It was Patrick’s turn to halfway laugh.

“C’mere,” he said, grinning.

Henry walked over to him, gingerly, still feeling the effects of Patrick fucking him. Patrick held out his arms, his thin arms, and Henry went into them, putting his forehead on Patrick’s shoulder.

“You all tired from getting fucked, daddy?”

“Yeah. Fuck.”

Patrick hummed and kissed the top of Henry’s head.

There it was again — tenderness for Henry’s sake, for the sake of Patrick’s acting career.

Still, Henry smiled and lifted his head and kissed Patrick. Patrick smiled into it, a harsh curve that Henry could feel in his bones.

He realized then that he wasn’t ready to let this go. He didn’t love Patrick, but he loved this.

He didn’t love Patrick, didn’t know if he ever would or should.

But he loved this.

This — being held by him, kissing him, fucking him. Fucking around with him.

He loved this.

[strawberriestyles]

Keep Yeh Safe

Alex X Reader: Angst & fluff

In which Alex finds comfort in the girl he met by chance.

Request? Yes:

Hi can you do an Alex imagine where he returns home from war and the reader is waiting at the train station for him and it's all really fluffy and shit thank you xxxx

I have a request for an Alex imagine in which Alex has like a PTSD nightmare and the reader (they can be in a long time romantic relationship or budding romance) comforts him because he's crying even though he's trying to act brave

Author’s note: This is a continuation of “Keep Yeh Warm!” I would suggest reading that one first, but I suppose you don’t really have to. I hope you enjoy!!

Part 1: Keep Yeh Warm

It’s been months upon months of fear.

In the few weeks of peace you had with Alex, the bond the two of you formed beneath that one thin blanket had grown into something that consumed you. With the little bit of money that the two of you had been able to scrounge up, you had moved into a cheap, little home in the middle of nowhere, and you didn’t think you had ever felt happier.

Alex had found a bakery not too far away, where he was able to barter for a job. Somehow, you found yourself in the midst of a factory, assembling parts for aircrafts to be used in the war. And every night, the two of you got to come home to each other, to get to know each other, to share stories and build a relationship. Alex was funny and kind and so gentle with you, it was as if he thought you would disintegrate at his touch.

Everything was incredible while it lasted, which wasn’t long. The troops had been thrown right back into training after the Dunkirk evacuation. Alex, who had disappeared immediately after arriving back in England, was just another casualty of war, or at least that’s what the two of you had thought. That was until a customer at the bakery turned out to be a military member looking for Alex. He offered him an easy out. Rejoin the troops, and Alex would be able to avoid any legal run-ins for his desertion.

Many months of loneliness later, after worrying about his treatment during training and then agonizing about his safety during the war, the soldiers are meant to come home. You’ve been pacing the platform at the train station for nearly an hour, feeling wave upon wave of anxiety. You never received news that anything had happened to him, but you still can’t be completely sure that he’s coming back. The waiting game is nothing but a racing heart and clammy palms.

It’s half past ten when you hear the shrill whistle of a train. Women and families begin to move forward on the platform, watching as the locomotive makes its way into the station. Your shaking fingers press to your lips. Your breathing is shallow and uneven.

The train brakes beside the platform with the sound of shrieking metal. Your eyes have begun to water for some unknown reason, but you think it might have to do with your pessimistic thoughts. There’s no guarantee that Alex is on this train. There’s no guarantee he’s on any train anywhere, or that he’s even breathing. What will you do when he doesn’t appear? If he doesn’t appear, you mean.

“Henry!” A middle-aged woman shouts, dropping the hand of a younger girl and springing forward as the first soldier exits the train. There’s a long line behind him.

It feels like hours that you’re waiting with bated breath on the platform. Soldiers file outside, some beaming, some wearing deep-set frowns, some with families awaiting them, others with no greeting. A tear has already leaked down your cheek. The emotional reunions all around you have proved to be too much. You really don’t know how you’ll be able to go home alone if—

Your thoughts almost cease completely. Your knees feel weak as a familiar face appears on the stairs of the train car directly in front of you. There’s mud smeared over his cheek, but he doesn’t look nearly as dirty as he did the first time you saw him, coated in oil. His eyebrows are drawn low, his hair skimming the top of them as he swings his head around the platform. When he sees you, it’s like you can see a weight visibly falling from his shoulders. His eyes lighten and the tension in his body seems to melt away.

“Alex,” you whisper beneath your breath, as though you’re testing the sound of it, savoring the taste of it on your tongue. His feet carry him to you at a slow pace, a stride that isn’t prepared when you throw yourself into his arms, sobbing into his neck.

“Y/N, love,” he whispers, taking a rocky step backwards but wrapping his arms firmly around your waist. He buries his face into your hair, taking deep breaths of your shampoo, of the smell of you. He hasn’t felt this at ease in months. “I’ve missed yeh so much.”

You’re having a full-on breakdown against him. Your breaths heave over his neck with each wracking sob. He can feel you shaking within his arms, fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

“Hey, angel,” he soothes, pressing a hard kiss to your temple. “Shh, ‘s okay. ‘M right here, love. ‘M fine. ‘S okay.”

It takes a minute or so for you to calm down enough for him to maneuver a kiss to your lips. When he does, it’s like he’s sipping water for the first time in weeks. You taste like home. His tongue licks into your mouth, drinking you in.

“God, I’ve missed yeh so much,” he mumbles when he breaks away, brushing hair out of your face from where it’s stuck to your drying tears. He rests his forehead against yours, running his thumbs along your cheeks to collect any dampness.

Your fingers have clung to the front of his jacket, and you think they’ve locked themselves in place. You won’t be able to let go of him for a long time, won’t be able to let him out of your sight.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” he says after another few minutes of taking each other in.

“Just kiss me again, first,” you beg. “Once more.”

Alex obeys, clasping his fingers gently onto either side of your jaw and pressing his lips to yours. His mouth is less hungry, more expressive. He’s missed you.

***

The ground quakes beneath Alex's feet. Wind carries plumes of black smoke into the air. All around him, all he can see is death and destruction. The beach is hell on Earth.

"Alex!"

Whipping his head around, Alex finds Tommy. His hair is plastered to his forehead and there's a wild look in his eyes. Before Alex can reply, Tommy has spun around and is racing across the sand, kicking it up in clouds behind him. Alex runs after him.

Explosions shower the beach. Alex's ears ring and he can feel his fingers trembling. He balls them into fists as he runs. Everywhere he looks, there are dead bodies, staring glassy-eyed at him. He tries to avoid their cold stares. Another bomb falls from the sky and Alex watches as Tommy is blown into fragments. He hears himself screaming.

“Alex! Alex, wake up!”

Alex bolts upright in bed, nearly smashing your heads together in his haste. His skin is coated in a cold sweat, his heart hammering beneath his ribcage. Your fingers are pressing to his damp back, combing through his sweaty hair, rubbing at his tensed shoulder. He sighs in relief.

“Are you okay?” you ask him in a soft whisper.

Alex runs a hand over his face, nodding gently. He pulls you to him, placing you in his lap, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck.

“What was it about,” you ask, threading your fingers into his hair and scratching at his scalp, “the nightmare?”

“Dunkirk,” he answers, squeezing tightly at your sides. He’s not there anymore. He’s here at home with you, but sometimes he just needs you to keep him grounded in the now.

You hum, pressing feather-light pecks to his cheek. He turns to capture your lips with his, kissing you sweetly.

Tonight isn’t the first night that he’s woken you up with wild nightmares. In the week he’s been home, there have only been four uninterrupted nights. Often, a few minutes of holding him and pressing kisses to his face will calm him enough to lull him back to sleep, and he doesn’t wake again until morning. The daytimes, however, have taken a toll. He seems sluggish and quiet. You don’t like to see him this way. You wish you could just make everything better for him, but you know that you can’t.

Another few minutes pass with your head on his shoulder, your fingers scratching comfortingly at his back. His breaths have slowed, his heartbeat steadied against your chest. “All right?” you whisper, pulling away enough to look at his face.

Alex hums, laying back and pulling you with him. He holds you atop his body, playing with the ends of your hair as he stares up at the ceiling. “Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, but he gives the same soft “no” as he always does. He doesn’t speak again before he’s pulled back to sleep.

***

The water is icy as it seeps through Alex’s uniform, weighing him down. He’s struggling just to stay above the surface of the water, to get enough air in his lungs before each wave rolls over him. All around him, there are shouts and orders being barked. It’s chaos.

Alex pushes away from the sinking boat beside him. His arms already ache as he tries to swim, pulling his heavy body along. He sees a craft where men have begun to climb aboard. There’s a girl there, helping them onto the deck. He thinks briefly that she’s beautiful, and then he realizes that it’s you.

Without a second thought, Alex is forcing his way through the cold water, heading directly for you. His heart is pounding and his lungs ache with a lack of oxygen. Waves seem to roll over him every time he tries to catch a breath.

It feels like hours before he reaches the boat. And then you’re standing above him, smiling with an outstretched hand. He reaches for you, is just about to touch your fingertips when a ship somewhere explodes. You’re rocked off your feet, back onto the deck of the boat. And Alex is sinking. He can’t pull himself up far enough to break the surface of the water. He’s being pulled further under with each violent wave. His lungs are out of air, but he can see your hand as you reach over the edge of the boat, can see your fingers breaking the surface, reaching for him. But he can’t reach back and water has forced its way up his nose.

“Alex!”

Alex wakes with a choking sound, sputtering into the quiet air of the bedroom. He reaches up to clutch at his throat, to tug at the collar of his shirt. But he can breathe. There’s no water in his lungs, no ocean pulling him deeper into its depths. Still, the feeling of helplessness is upon him and he can’t help the sob that escapes his lips.

It’s been nearly a week since his last episode. You were hopeful that perhaps he was getting better, but it was only wishful thinking. A person cannot see the things that Alex has and emerge unscathed. Whatever he’s dreamed of, it seems worse than anything else that’s awoken him.

“Hey.” Your voice is laced with your own panic as you take hold of his hand pulling it from his neck. You brush the hair from Alex’s forehead as his body wracks with another sob. You’ve never seen him cry before.

“Shh, shh.” You try to calm him, gripping tightly to his hand and pressing your other palm to the side of his face. Your thumb finds the damp trails of tears as the fall toward his hairline.

“‘M sorry,” he whispers in between cries.

“Sorry for what?” you ask, shaking your head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Everything ‘ve done. Made mistakes. Deserted.” Alex’s voice is barely audible and he hiccups between words, but he’s gripping your hand so tightly that your fingers have begun to go numb. “‘M a coward.”

“You’re not, Alex.” You shake your head adamantly, wiping at the fresh set of tears that make their way down his cheeks. “You’re incredibly brave.”

“‘M not,” he resists, closing his glassy eyes when you turn his face toward you. “‘M selfish and afraid and yeh deserve better than—”

“Alex, listen to me,” you interrupt, brings his hand up to press kisses to his fingers. “It’s normal to be afraid of dying. Whatever you did at Dunkirk, even after, when you went back, it’s okay. It brought you home to me.”

“‘M not s’posed to be wakin’ yeh up every night and scarin’ yeh. ‘M meant to keep yeh calm. To keep yeh safe.” His voice is pained. He clings to your fingers, as if afraid that you’ll evaporate on the spot.

“Alex,” you whisper with a shake of your head. You turn into him, settling your chin on his shaking chest, repositioning his hand so you can press your lips to his fingertips. “You deserve to feel safe, too.”

“But I—”

You lean up, covering his trembling lips with your own. He sighs beneath you, seeming to let the tension roll off of him in a wave. His free hand presses to your cheek.

“You’ve been through more than anyone should be asked to go through. The nightmares, if you’re scared—” You shake your head again, kissing the corner of his mouth and mumbling against his skin, “It doesn’t make you weak, Alex. Okay? You’re the strongest person I know.”

He’s silent for some time, hand pressed tightly to your back, holding you against his body for fear that he’ll lose you. When he does speak, it’s not what you were expecting.

“I love yeh.”

You peer up at him cautiously. Perhaps you didn’t hear him properly. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you. But he nods, squeezing your fingers.

“I do. I really love yeh. Glad I found yeh out there in the water. Didn’ have much hope left and then there yeh were. Like m’own guardian angel.”

You smile, twisting your neck to press a meaningful kiss over his heart.

“I love you, too, my brave soldier.”

[pandapantslovesyou]

Disillusioned

Omegaverse! Semi-dystopian Modern AU (also my first fanfiction on this site!) For the past twenty years, the world has been coming apart at the seams. Disease, natural disasters, and - according to John Laurens - the inherent crappiness of human beings. The world's population is dropping rapidly, and everyone knows that it's only a matter of time before the government steps up and does something about it. Time's up.

Warnings: mentions of socially accepted rape.  Also John’s not exactly in the best place.

Chapter 4

They hadn’t figured anything out.

Lafayette, Adrienne, and Hercules hadn’t left since they’d come over.  They all exchanged, and shot down, idea after idea.

When everyone else slept, Alex and John stayed awake with the aid of coffee, energy drinks, and sheer willpower.  Alex typed countless essays.  John sketched out escape plans, but hourly updates about the strengthening of defenses and the increasing number of Omegas being caught crushed each and every one.

On the eve of the 15th, he dropped his pen.

Lafayette and Adrienne were asleep in Lafayette’s old room.  Hercules was asleep in the guest room.

Alex was nursing another cup of coffee.  He hadn’t eaten in close to forty-eight hours.  John could see the shaking in his hands as he typed, the exhaustion under his eyes.  This wasn’t fair to him. This wasn’t fair to any of them.

“They’ll induce heat,” John said softly.  He stared at his notebook.  He couldn’t bring himself to look at Alex for this.  “They’ll use pheromones on the Alphas.  It might not- it might not-”  He swallowed.  “I don’t think it’ll hurt -”

“No,” Alex snapped.  “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare think like that.”

“Marty will probably help me raise it.  Henry will hopefully provide some kind of funds for his grandchild.  I wouldn’t be totally alone.”

Alex shoved his computer off of his lap.  “No.” He fixed John with a glare.  “Stop it.  We’re not going to stop until we find a way to get you out of this!”

“I don’t see what we can do!”

“You won’t be bred against your will -”

“I can’t see a way to avoid -”

“I will not let anyone breed you against your will!” Alex grabbed John’s arms and stared into his eyes desperately.  He was on the verge of shattering.  John reached for his face, reached for the stubble that had grown there, but stopped himself.  He looked down, shoulders slumping.  It was time to admit defeat.

“Alex.”

“No, John.  We’re not giving up.”

“I’m -”

“We’re not giving up.”

“I’m unbonded, Alex.  There’s nothing we can do.”

Alex froze.  “John.  What if you...  What if you weren’t unbonded?”

John shook his head at him.  “I don’t - I’m not -”

“But what if you bonded with someone?”  His eyes had that gleam in them.  He had an idea.

John sighed.  “Alex, there’s no one who’ll bond with me.  Bonds are for life-”

“If you don’t consummate-”

“I’d still be tied to them for life.  Not to mention it’s a huge risk. That’s bond fraud.  That’s a serious crime.  I can’t even begin to imagine what the consequences would be in a case like this.”

“Someone who’s willing to take that risk-”

“Who the hell would be willing-”

“Me.”

John stopped short.  “You?”

Alex nodded.  “I don’t give a damn about what might happen if we get caught.  No risk is too large if it means that you’re safe.”  He sighed.  “But it’s gonna be a lot on your part.  Because technically, you’re the only one who has to be bonded for this to work.  You’ll be tied to me, but I won’t be tied to you.”

“What do we tell the government when they ask us why I’m suddenly bonded to my college roommate?”

Alex shrugged.  “That we’ve been in love for years and were planning to wait until after we graduate to bond, but this kind of forced our hands.”

This was a very big deal.  John needed to spend time mulling it over, rethinking his options.

But he didn’t have any other options.  And being bonded to Alex was a better alternative than being shipped off to some facility and only released once he got pregnant or died.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Alex seemed surprised.

But John nodded.  “What other choice do we have?”

Alex made a face.  “Right.  Um.  Would it be more comfortable for you if you were, um, on the bed?”

John stood on stiff legs and lay back on the mattress.  This felt wrong. Mechanical.  Alex leaned over him and smiled awkwardly before lowering his face to John’s neck.

“Wait.”

Alex stilled.

“If we do this...  We’ll still be friends, right?  No matter what?”

“Of course.”  Alex pulled away and met John’s eyes.  “We’ll always be friends.”  A beat.  “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” John took a deep breath.

Alex once again lowered his face to John’s neck.  His breath tickled John’s skin as he searched out his scent gland.  John stared up at the ceiling.  He felt Alex’s lips touch his skin.  The sharp pain of teeth.  He stiffened, clenched his jaw, eyes snapping shut as his heart pounded in his ears.  Then the teeth were gone and Alex was kissing away the blood that bloomed on the surface.

He'd been told stories about bonding.  That looking into his lover's eyes would give him feelings he'd never felt before, he'd be swept away in a sea of affection and love.  But when Alex pulled away and gave him an uneasy smile, no such thing happened.

John didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Instead he took a stab at humor.  “Does this mean you're going to use your shitty Australian accent and call me mate all of the time?”

Alex laughed.  “Absolutely.  You okay?”

John nodded, sitting up and touching his scent gland.  It was sore. Rightfully so.  “I'm fine.”

“Feel any... different?”

John shook his head.  “Not really.  Your scent's a little bit stronger, I think.”  He inhaled a little and the word home immediately came to mind.  But Alex had always smelled like home to him.  He smelled like home and ink and coffee and a little bit like cinnamon, which never made sense because Alex wasn't a baker.

“So you're safe now.”

John stood and grabbed his phone, opening the front camera and examining the bite.  The little mark on his skin was supposed to mean everything.  It meant nothing.

A part of him felt sick.

It was our only option, he reminded himself.  It didn't make him feel better.

“We need to prepare ourselves for the investigation,” John muttered, pulling himself away from the dangerous thoughts.  “They’ll ask us weirdly specific questions that only mates should know the answers to.”

“We're mates.”  Alex's voice sounded a little off when he said it.  Then he shook his head sharply.  “We'll be able to convince them easily. It's not like we're strangers.  And we can deal with the questioning.  We just need a backstory.”

John sat down on the bed.  “Right.  A backstory.  How long have we been together?”

“Six months.  But we've been dancing around each other since before we went to college.”

“Easy enough.  Um, where do we go out for dates?”

Alex didn't miss a beat.  “We always order takeout from either the Chinese place on Fifty-first or Thai on Elms.  We get Chinese more often than Thai, because you have to be in the mood for Thai or else you don't like it.”  All of that was technically true.  Alex took his laptop and began typing.  “I'm sure there's sample questions online for...  Here we are.  Here's a good one: do your parents approve? My parents are dead.”

“My father didn't know until we bonded.  He doesn't like you.”

Alex snorted.  “When is your birthday?  October twenty-eighth.”

“Yours is January eleventh.  Who knows about the relationship?”

“All of our close friends.  They'll all lie for us, I'm sure of it.  We just wanted to keep it quiet because we knew your dad wouldn't approve, and we were going to wait to bond until you passed the Bar.”

“We were?”

“We wanted to have steady jobs so we could afford to hold a huge celebration.”  Alex smiled.  He'd been planning his ceremony since he was in the fourth grade, when they'd first talked about it in their history class.  John remembered Alex showing him his sketches and notes.  His heart hurt a little.  Would this keep Alex from having that?

John took a breath, focusing on the task at hand.  They could get divorced after the Protocol ended, Alex could find someone that he really loved.  “Are there any weird questions?”

He scrolled down the page.  “Oh.  Um, when was your last heat?”

“I take suppressors.  So years ago. We weren't together yet.”

“That's right.  I remember you telling me about how your professor was confused as to why you hadn't taken your five days off each semester.”

“And I know you take suppressors for your rut, too.  If you remember to.”

“How many children do we want?”

John looked down at his hands.  Thought for a moment.  “Well, we'd be waiting to have any until we both had steady jobs.  And a house.  I don't know how many I want to have.”  He leaned back on the bed. Felt Alex's eyes on him.  “We already have a huge family, with my siblings, and Frannie and Daniel and Lafayette.  And then there's Hercules and Adri and the Schuylers because they're family, too.  At least, to me.”

“Yeah, they're my family, too.”

“And I love them all, and having a lot of kids will only add to that.  But I don't want my kids to become my only job, and having a bunch tends to do that.”  John paused.  “Is that wrong?”

“That you'd rather work and try to change the world instead of have fifteen kids like society expects you to?”

“Fair enough.  I think I want three.  Maximum.  Just one or two would be fine with me.”

“I like two.  It's an even number, and the kids won't outnumber the parents.”

John nodded.  “Two it is, then.”  What would we name them, though? He didn't ask.  That would be too much, and he figured that no one expected them to know the answer just yet.  “What's my favorite color?”

“Green. What's mine?”

“Red. Not just any red.  Dark red, like a shade or so lighter than blood.”

“That's really morbid.”

“I'm not wrong.”

“No, you're not.  Um...”  More clicking as he looked through the page. “What was your mother's maiden name?”

“Ball. Yours was Faucette.  And your father's last name was Hamilton, obviously.”  John gave a half smile.  “Rachel Faucette and James Hamilton.”

“What's your deepest fear?  Yours is... being alone.  Like truly alone.”

“And yours is being forgotten.”

There was a knock on the door and Lafayette entered, rubbing his eyes. “Morning.”

“Morning?” John echoed.  “What time is it?”

“Three-thirty. Adrienne's still passed out.  I think she's more worried about you than she -”  He stopped and inhaled deeply.  “John?  You smell... different.”  He looked at the man in question, eyes searching and finally falling upon his neck.  “Mon dieu.”

“It was the only way,” Alex said.

Lafayette shook his head.  “This is equal parts genius and idiotic.  You do realize that this changes everything about your dynamic?”

“It doesn't have to,” John said.  “We're not going to consummate -”

“What?”

“- and we're already roommates.  It's not like this is a big step for us.”

“Non, it is a monumental step! You two are bonded! For life!”

“I'd rather be bonded to Alex than forced to have children I don't want with someone I don't know!” John spat.  Lafayette looked at him, eyes wide and concerned.  He knew, John realized.  He knew that he had feelings for Alexander.  And that this was a little more complicated than everyone thought.  “It was the only thing we could think of that wasn't guaranteed to end with us in prison.”

Lafayette sighed and sat down on the bed.  “This is cruel to you, John.”

“I know.”

“Alex, you're cruel to John.”

Both John and Alex winced.  “I made sure that he was okay with it before I bit him.”

“Yet you didn't let him bite you.”

“Only the Omega needs to be bitten for this to work.”

Lafayette's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything else.  Just pulled John into a hug and kissed the top of his head.  “John, I don't know if this is the same for Omegas, but when Adrienne bit me, she became very attached right before her rut.  She clung to me like a child. She did not let me leave her side.”

“Is this for every rut?”

“No, just the first one.  And when it happened, she was insatiable.  She could not get enough of me.  I couldn't leave the room, or else she would become miserable.”

John swallowed.  The heat or rut that immediately followed a bond was supposed to be ridiculously strong, as a way to reaffirm the relationship.  No amount of suppressors could stop it.  “Then I'm glad I didn't bite Alex.  He won't have to go through it.”

“But you will.”

“It's just one heat.  It's not going to kill me.”

“When are you due for it?”

John looked at the calendar on his phone.  It was harder to determine since he’d been on suppressors for so long.  “Two weeks, I think.”

Alex looked stricken, like he hadn't considered any of that.  John hadn't, either.  “John,” he said, “I -”

“I'm safe now,” John said firmly.  “That's what matters.  If it gets too bad, I'll make Marty drive me to the heat clinic.”

Alex nodded and looked away briefly.  John understood.  As close as they were, this was new territory.  It hadn't been discussed before.

When Adrienne and Hercules woke up, they explained the situation, which warranted roughly the same response.

Mimi texted John that she’d gotten out of the Protocol and was going up to Canada for the rest of the summer.

The head of the soup kitchen called and told him that they would be closed until further notice.

At around 8 in the morning, John's phone began to ring.  It was Eliza.

He sure was popular this morning.

“Just checking in,” she said when he answered.  “Any solutions?”

“Yeah, actually.”  John excused himself and went out onto the back porch. “Alex bit me.”

He had to hold the phone back from his ear as the shrill “What?” came over the line.

“Yeah. I'm no longer unbonded.”

“Did you two -?”

“No. We're still just friends.  Which reminds me, I need to ask you and your sisters to lie to the government for me.”

Eliza didn't say anything for a long time.  “I'm sorry, John.  This must be really hard for you.”

“I'll live.  It beats the alternative.  And as far as impromptu bondings for the sake of avoiding governmental tyranny go, Alex isn't the worst choice.”

The Schuyler sisters were in Italy for the summer, along with Eliza's mate, Maria.  Eliza was an Omega, too, but she and Maria had bonded last year, in a huge ceremony that everyone attended.

John had tried to hate her when they'd met, because she was Alex's first girlfriend, but he couldn't.  There was something about Eliza that he just couldn't bring himself to resent.  Not to mention she'd helped him with Marty when some girly issues arose.  There wasn't a malicious bone in her body.  John had nothing to hate.  And he hated that.

But when she and Alex broke up – after John helped Alex pick up the pieces of his broken heart – it was easier to get along.  He also realized just how smart she was when, a year later, she confronted him about his feelings for Alex.  At that point, John was so miserable after his own breakup that he admitted it freely to her.  She was the only person he'd told.

But apparently not the only one who knew.

“Do you want us to come home early?” Eliza asked.

“No, no, enjoy the rest of your vacation.  I'll live.  I promise.”

“You know to call me if you need anything, right?”

“Of course.”

They talked for a couple more minutes before he heard a throat clear behind him and turned to see Mr. Washington standing by the screen door.

“Hey, Eliza, I've gotta go.”

“Okay. Say hi to Marty for me.”

He hung up and faced the man in front of him.  “Sir.”

“Alex told me what happened.”

“Oh.” What else could he say?

“He tried to tell me that you two have been together for the past six months.  I don't believe him, and said as much.”

“Oh.”

He sat down at the patio table and gestured for John to join him.  After just a moment, he did.  “I'm sorry that this is what it's come to,” George said.  He was a lawyer.  He had his own firm.  He'd studied political law in college and got high marks on everything.  John was terrified.  “I'm not fond of lying.  You've known me for long enough to know that.”

“I do, sir.”  He was going to report him.  And then Alex was going to go to prison and John was either going to prison with him or to one of the breeding facilities the government had erected in the past three days.

“But as much as I hate dishonesty, I hate this new policy more.  So your secret is safe with Martha and me.”

John let out the breath he'd been holding in, shoulders relaxing in relief.  “Thank you, sir.  Thank you so much.”

Mr. Washington nodded.  “If you need a lawyer, or if your father becomes an issue, you can always come to me.”

John went back to Alex's bedroom and sat down next to his new mate – ha – who was furiously typing again.  “New essay?”

“Just because we've gotten you out of it doesn't mean everyone else is in the clear.”

John nodded, picking up his notebook and a pen.  He'd been saved.  Now it was time to work on saving everyone else, too.

[diana-prince-s]

Imagine this

picture it, National City, 2017

four women own a large house where they give refuge to young queer girls who need a place to stay

-Therese Belivet and Carol Aird own the house. they moved there after Carol’s nasty divorce from her husband to get away from him. Carol owns her furniture store and Therese has just gotten a job working to CatCo Worldwide Media as a photographer

-on their way to NC, they meet two women, Regina Mills and Emma Swan, and their son, Henry. they just left a small town in Maine to escape both their troubled pasts and to start a new life. unfortunately, neither of them have jobs lined up, and the apartment they were supposed to rent was taken off the market at the last second. they can only live off of Regina’s inheritance for so long

-Carol immediately invites the family to live with them, Therese is intimidated at first but finds Emma amusing and Carol and Regina get along well. Henry is bright-eyed and he loves Therese’s photographs, likes to tell stories to go along with them.

-Emma is able to get a job with the National City Police Department as a low-ranking cop, but she’s hoping to move up. Regina hasn’t had any luck, but it just gives her more time to spend with Henry

-the house is large, too large, Therese realizes. one day, as she’s running errands between assignments, she sees a girl on the street. she looks lonely, and like she hasn’t eaten in days, and Therese stops and asks her if she’s okay. the girl tries to keep it together, puts on a brave face, but the tears welling in her eyes betray her. Therese takes the girl home and feeds her and gives her new clothes and a warm place to stay

-Maggie Sawyer doesn’t know why she went to a stranger’s house, but it was better than living on the street. her father had thrown her out only weeks prior, and she’d tried to get in touch with an aunt, only to find that her cell phone had been cut off. so, when the nice stranger had invited her in, she followed

-at dinner that night, the four women, the boy, and the teenage girl sit at the table. Maggie is able to open up about what happened -- that she had been outed as gay, that her father had thrown her out, that her mother had tried to stop her father, that it hadn’t been enough -- and the hearts of everyone at the table melt. they insist that she stay with them for as long as she needs

-as four out, proud, queer women themselves who’d had their share of hardships because of their sexualities, Regina, Carol, Emma, and Therese know they have to do something -- something that goes beyond just helping one queer girl in need

-Regina puts all her efforts into starting the home -- she settles the necessary paperwork expeditiously, prints and posts flyers at youth centers and coffee shops, starts fundraising. the other women are busy with work but contribute as best they can. Maggie is able to help, able to reach out to some other queer kids to spread the word

-Emma and Maggie become close -- they talk about law enforcement and police work, and helping the world become a better place. Maggie is inspired, Maggie wants to do what Emma does. Emma loves taking Henry Maggie to the station, or just taking them for a ride in the squad car

-Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods are the next girls to arrive. they ran away when Lexa’s foster father found out that Lexa was gay and attacked Clarke. Clarke’s father had died recently, and her mother was working with refugees on the other side of the world. the Aird-Belivet-Swan-Mills house seems like the only safe place they can go

-the women welcome them with open arms and give them a room (Emma, designated rule-setter, gives them a talk about sharing a room as a couple and safe sex, and deems that it’s okay). they’re strong girls, and they actually help Maggie a lot with overcoming her issues after her traumatic experience

-Sara Lance is a headstrong, tormented young girl who ran away from her family. her relationship with her sister was rocky, and her family neglected her; she had done things in her past that she deeply regretted, that she felt made her inhuman. she makes it to NC and finds a flyer for the house, shows up and asks for a place to stay, nothing more. she is elusive and guarded, and she barely talks to anyone. it’s Regina that helps her to open up, and they share their pasts (which are very similar)

-Carol’s furniture expertise gets noticed by some wealthy, high-profile people in NC, and she finds herself invited to a gala event for multiple companies, one of which is LuthorCorp. she and Therese attend; while there, Carol notices a young girl with striking black hair and pale skin, wearing a tailored tuxedo suit. beside her is a young blonde girl with a radiant smile. they dance together and laugh together, and oh does it remind Carol of herself and Therese

-after a while of observing, Carol notices a tall, sharp woman making her way towards the couple. the woman takes Lena roughly by the arm and yanks her away, speaking sharply in her ear. they pass by Carol, and Carol sucks in a breath when she hears that horrible d-word dripping with disgust from the woman’s mouth

-a week later, that dark-haired girl shows up at the house with a dark bruise covering her left eye and cheek. Carol tugs the girl inside, rushes her upstairs and lets her cry, cleans her up and kisses her hair, because the girl is young, because the girl has grown up in a world where the expectations are high and wrong, because Carol knows

-Lena Luthor settles in as best she can. she feels different from the other girls -- she’s never had friends other than Kara and Alex before, and they weren’t here. but it’s easy to fall into giggles when Maggie is so funny and Sara is so witty, and Clarke and Lexa are so bright and insightful and wise beyond their years. Henry looks at them all like big sisters, writes stories and fairytales about them falling in love and living happily ever after, and Lena can believe, if only for a moment, that that’s true

-not even thirty-six hours later, and the blonde girl from the party arrives, followed by a stoic brunette. Alex and Kara Danvers have been Lena’s friends for years, and Kara and Lena are in love (even though Alex is the only one who will admit it). Kara was adopted by the Danvers, and Alex’s father is dead, her mother mostly absent since the accident that killed him. Alex had been raising Kara -- and by extension, Lena -- for a few years by then, and it had been taking a toll on the young girl

-Kara doesn’t want to leave Lena alone, but Alex can’t take care of another teenager just two years her junior full time. Therese offers to take in Kara, telling Alex that she can visit whenever, but Alex doesn’t go anywhere without her sister

-Alex sees Maggie, and it’s -- wow. neither of them really know how to act around one another, it’s all smiling glances and awkward words and half-sentences that barely make it out. Clarke and Lexa observe with amusement and Sara makes quips and jokes about the interactions. 

-Alex didn’t even fully know that she was gay -- sure, she had thought about it, especially after Kara had come out as bisexual, but she hadn’t really felt attraction to anyone. seeing Maggie, though, is like the gay lightning bolt of knowledge and wisdom, and everything falls into place

-Kara and Lena are too entranced with each other to notice

-the Danvers girls stay the night -- so, maybe Alex stays in Maggie’s room, but they both sleep on the floor, under a makeshift tent, where they share secrets and pasts and everything in between

-the next day, Eliza Danvers gives the girls permission to live at the Aird-Belivet-Swan-Mills house

-finally comes the Purgatory girls. Wynonna Earp is a -- well, she’s something. She’s pan and she’s sexy and she’s confident, and one look at Sara has the headstrong girl swooning. her younger sister, Waverly, is cute and a little shy but has a personality that rivals Wynonna’s. her girlfriend, Nicole Haught, has a body to match the name and is secure on the outside, but a little bit insecure on the inside. the girls come from a small town where the citizens can barely wrap their heads around lesbian and bisexual and pansexual, not to mention Waverly being ace. they don’t really have family or a place to go, and Wynonna’s wanderlust has taken them to NC, where they find themselves at the house

-the house is full, and it’s loud, and there are so many underlying issues that bubble to the surface sometimes. the girls squabble -- never fight, they care too much to fight -- and they have breakdowns. but, they’re always there to support each other, and the mothers are always there to support them. even Henry takes it upon himself to try and cheer the girls up on a regular basis

-their dinner table has become larger and larger -- it’s Sara, Wynonna, Clarke, Lexa, Nicole, Waverly, Kara, Lena, Alex, Maggie, Henry, Carol, Therese, Regina, and Emma now -- and nights when they all eat together are treats. Emma has gotten Maggie, Alex, Nicole, Sara and Wynonna internships at the NCPD; Clarke and Lena help Carol with the furniture store; Waverly and Kara have intern jobs at CatCo with Therese; and Lexa works with Regina on running the house, keeping things up to date, and they are even working on getting Regina a seat in the city government.

-of course, the couples live together: Kara and Lena, Alex and Maggie, Wynonna and Sara, Waverly and Nicole, and Clarke and Lexa. it becomes difficult sometimes, but Emma, Regina, Carol, and Therese can handle it

-they’re a family. a large family, a sometimes dysfunctional family, a chosen family, and a happy family.

[georgeluz]

hey:) for the ask thing, im about 5'5, i have long wavy light brown hair and big brown eyes w olive skin. my myers briggs is campaigner&my star sign is a cancer! i'm kinda built (?) bc i do competitive sport, i play lotta instruments, and im v social. i have adhd yikes and anxiety YIKES but it's chill lol, sometimes that does get in the way though. for the fandom, BoB would be great:) also ya u are a legend i didn't mean another word for champ i deadass just meant legend. thanks ❣

NO MORE PLS.

Wow. But… if I were… a legend… I would’ve gotten this done FOREVER AGAOAUHDFgrihEJADF. I’m so SORRY. Babe. But to make it up to you, this blurb is fucking LONG. @v-esperteen 

The Character I See You As: Buck Compton. HIGHLY SOCIAL? SPORTS? ANXIOUS? You got yourself a recipe for BUCK COMPTON. Aka the wonderful, sweet lil sunshine that loves literally everyone and makes everyone feel so comfortable and relaxed (and sometimes not relaxed depending on how boisterous he gets). I love him because even though he has all of these amazing qualities, he is independent to a fault (daring to argue with Winters I scream he’s–), highly emotional (losing his friends literally KILLED HIM) and anxious (though he hides it well behind his EVERYTHING IS FINE face or his dead inside face).

Your Three Best Friends: Don Malarkey, Alex Penkala, Skip Muck (aka the squad)

The One You Don’t Get Along With: Henry Jones. Sweet, sweet Henry. It’s no one’s fault, but he’s so composed and so put together that you honestly don’t know what to do with him. Try and joke with him? He just stares at you (maybe smiles pitifully). Try and initiate conversation? Part of you burns because he takes himself so damn seriously and you decide never to try that again lmao. You like him… you just don’t know what to do with him and him with you, so you just stay out of each other’s hair.

Who I Ship You With: Shifty Powers. The ENFP plus the shy, cute, unassuming, but also incredibly brave and intelligent Shifty Powers? HELLO HOW FREAKING ADORA- I digress. Shifty is wonderful because he’s mellow and gentle, gets embarrassed easily if you try and shower him with affection, but somehow keeps cool in the middle of combat, never gets injured, etc. His name is Shifty for a reason, one minute he’s there and the next you’re like ?? hello ?? Shifty? ANYWAY. I love him a lot. He’s like the least anxious person. Whenever you have your anxious moments he’s there to cuddle you and tell you in his sweet lil accent that everything is gonna be just fine (dont mind me im crying).

Wildcard: Captain. 2nd Battalion Staff S-3. 101st Airborne.

Lil Blurb??: Your charisma got you here. Your athleticism, sharp wit, ability to make solid decisions under pressure, and aptitude for route planning got you here. You were a valuable assistant to Colonel Strayer. Your gender also got you here: pouring coffee for him at 6:30 in the morning, tapping your foot with a bright smile on your face. You pretended it was fine that you were reduced to such menial tasks. You knew it was too good to be true that you would be used for much after being moved from the WAAC to the 101st. You had trained hard with a handful of women to handle the difficulties of battle–you would never see combat, but you would get as close as any woman ever had.

But that still meant making coffee for all of the men, pouring it, and often being left out of discussions. You kept reminding yourself that it was insane that you were here, in England, part of the planning for D-Day. You wouldn’t get to drop though, not like the boys. Knowing that crushed you, not because you particularly wanted to see combat and death, but because you had grown so close to the everyone. To be left behind was cruel. You were a favorite on Easy Company’s sports teams. It was Buck Compton that had used his charms to sway you into joining their soccer game. You were just as uneasy as the men, but once the game started, it was like you’d been playing with them forever.

Malarkey, Penkala, Muck, you, Compton, and Luz versus Guarnere, Toye, Heffron, Talbert, and Skinny Sisk. It was the most fun you’d ever had, throwing elbows and repeatedly trying to trip Tab (who kept throwing hands and swearing he was just going easy on you). You even managed to get a laugh out of Toye, something you hadn’t accomplished before. You patted yourself on the back for that one. But damn, it would hurt to be cut from the friends you’d made. You had brothers. These boys were like your brothers now, far from home, keeping you company in the daylight.

But, despite those boys being the group you had become so close with so quickly, it was the charming Southerner that caught your attention right off the bat. Powers was all broad shoulders passed down from generation to generation; he was meant to hold a gun, you could tell by the way he cradled his rifle against his arm. It was like an extension of himself, but that wasn’t the only thing you admired about the unassuming Shifty. He was a hell of a shot, probably the best in the company, but he was about as quiet, humble, and bashful as they came. And you thrived on making him blush.

First it was through subtle compliments when you caught him alone, without Tab or Skinny by his side. You would sit while Shifty cleaned his rifle, admiring his perfect form when shooting or suggesting he was the best you’d ever seen. You didn’t push him, you read him well enough to know he was easily made uncomfortable. You asked him about home, about his favorite gun, about the squirrels he used to shoot up in Virginia. Shifty would smile fondly at you, then his shoes, and lean back against the wall or the back of his chair, tipping his head back and squinting his eyes. He always took his time talking–he was deliberate. You loved that about him. When you sat with him it was like time stopped for just a sweet moment, like the anxieties and the frustration that fluttered in the back of your mind stopped.

One night, after sharing a drink or two, you both wandered into the nearby cow pasture and he told you about the farm he grew up on. “I did always like cows the most,” he murmured, running his hands along the dew-ridden grass, the other hand rubbing his jaw. “Big eyes, big ears.” He trailed off, screwing up his nose, trying to think of other reasons why he liked them so much. “Well I suppose they never did want nothing bad for nobody,” he finished with a short nod, drawing both hands behind him to lean on. “Chickens were too cranky, and the horses were too smart for me. I almost got kicked once. My daddy almost lost it, started hollerin’ about how I needed to stop sneakin’ up on ‘em. I was too quiet.”

You, yourself, had never been so quiet in your life. You were laying on your side, fingers threaded through the grass beside Shifty’s hand. You wanted nothing more than to keep listening, to drink his words in, to know him from the inside out, but he stopped and furrowed his brow. “You know, I never tried cow tippin’ before.” You looked up through your eyelashes, face flushed from the alcohol that still burned in the back of your throat. 

“What do we do, huh, Powers? Do we just run at them?” You had never done it before either. It sounded just like something a boy from Virginia would want to do.

“S’pose so, I never thought about it.”

“Wanna do it?”

“No, I don’t think that would be very kind,” he replied, sliding back down until his head hit the ground. He rolled onto his side and blinked up at you, a crooked smile gracing his features. “I’m too tired to run anyway.”

“Mmhm,” was your defeated reply, still propped up on your elbow, hovering over him. You felt a little tired too, buzzed, slipping down until your face was right beside his. You laughed. He laughed a little too, but he also looked like a deer caught in headlights. You weren’t one for personal space, at least not with people you enjoyed being around, and you hadn’t thought that it might be pushing it for him to be so close. 

“Never kissed anyone neither,” Shifty murmured after a moment. You tilted your head slightly, leaning back.

“Really?”

“I didn’t play football. I didn’t live in town. I don’t think I had a lot goin’ for me. Bad luck.”

You quirked a brow. Your heart was hammering against your chest. You weren’t supposed to being doing this with an enlisted man. You were his superior, and the reason most had objected to women in the military was for this damn reason exactly. “Why did you bring that up, Shifty?” You were just antagonizing him now.

He was silent for a moment, searching your gaze for any emotion other than drunken amusement. “Well, Y/N, I-I rightly think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I was just thinkin’ that. I’m sorry–” He broke off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was thinkin’ I wouldn’t mind kissin’ you.”

“Well, Shifty Powers, I don’t know what those girls back in Virginia were thinking,” you chuckled, reaching to grab the fabric of his shirt. “I must do my civic duty after all, send you off to war right,” you murmur before planting one on him, gentle, careful, trying not to spook him. This was real, you reminded yourself. And it would be gone soon, so you’d best enjoy it while it lasted. He draped his arm over your waist, pulling you in close, the other hand supporting your cheek. 

Shifty was a quick learner, you found, and you also discovered it would be very, very difficult to reverse what you’d done. After that night, discreet as you tried to be, he nearly gave it all away with his puppy eyes and his silent begging. And you were a sucker, running off with him to the fields and pastures whenever you could under the cover of darkness to romp, wrestle, play, and kiss a little before he and the rest of the men were dropped over Normandy.